


Waiting Out The Cold

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-27
Updated: 2003-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-27 06:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Picks up where season two left off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Was it seventy? Or eighty feet down? 

How did everything get so fucked up. 

Brian leaned over the bridge rail and gazed at mottled late-day light on the murky river below. The hypnotic effect only served to disassociate the present and turn memories into fresh wounds. 

It started two weeks ago. 

Brian could feel something tied to his heart slowly ripping itself away. How to stop it. Should he. Layered in conflict, his intellect scrambled to re-erect his damaged walls. His mouth rallied. His stance supported. He willed up anger to hide the hurt, and he had himself soooo convinced that he was right. 

Until the moment he held Justin, pressed his cheek to him and whispered, “Then what the fuck are you still doing here?” 

Then he fell apart a little. Where Justin couldn’t see. Possibly heard. But even that much, Brian kept short of being really heard. 

Justin ran his hand softly over Brian’s shoulder. He had heard an almost tender change in tone. But what did it mean. 

“Would you care if I wasn’t?” 

Still hemorrhaging through his fortress, Brian pulled back. 

“It’s your call, where you wanna be. You decide.” 

He caressed Justin’s face slowly, fingertips straining to stay. Then his hand slipped free, and when Justin hadn’t answered by that time, he knew it was over. Brian walked like a returning soldier from some harsh war, to the chair at his desk. He collapsed facing away and leaned his throbbing head on a raised arm, closed his eyes and fought for safety behind the little left of his walls. 

How did everything get so fucked up? – Justin thought as he dragged himself in a daze to the bedroom and sat hard onto the bed, mounted his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. After Brian told him to decide, he knew his answer. And that choice didn’t want him. 

On the last night they’d slept with bodies touching, Brian replayed all the reasons why it was best to let Justin go. Justin stayed numbly silent, having run out of reasons to stay. 

Gone were the automatic kisses, light banter, pleasure of close proximity. The few times their paths crossed became high-wire balancing acts. They talked civil, held their own, moved on. Brian knew Justin was still fucking with Ethan. Justin was convinced Brian could give a shit anyway. 

By the end of the line, they had crusted so much contempt over their true feelings, it was almost too easy to say good-bye. 

In the dim light of one living room lamp, Justin had entered the loft for the last of his things, not expecting Brian to be there. Then he saw Brian, a shadow in the shadows, leaning cross-armed against the refrigerator. 

Justin wouldn’t let Brian’s presence intimidate him. He walked right in. Saw his things at the foot of the bed and piled like a bonfire waiting for a match. 

“Thanks for helping me pack.” 

“No trouble at all.” 

Justin scanned for a carrier, grabbed the duvet off the bed, hurled it to the floor and threw his things into it. 

Brian pushed off the fridge, leaned on the counter. 

“Leave the duvet.” 

“Small price for all the times I let you fuck me.” 

“We’re keeping tabs now?” 

“There is no more we.” 

“And that’s MY fault?” 

Justin faltered, froze, then recollected himself before resuming his work, keenly aware that Brian was slowly moving toward him. 

Brian stopped at the far side of the duvet, stepped a bare foot onto the hem. 

“Justin, look at me.” 

Justin stopped, slowly lifted his head, massed his defiance so he might look at Brian without breaking down. 

Brian shielded with an emotionless expression. 

“Do you believe this is what I wanted?” 

“Doesn’t matter what I believe. You already answered that.” Justin broke contact, pulled at the duvet as he continued his wrap job. God, don’t let him come any closer. Or I might never make it out of here. Can’t do this anymore. Can’t. 

Because I won’t lie to you? Fuck it. Go with my goddamn blessing then. Brian lifted his foot and watched the duvet slide away, saddened yet pleased that Justin, whether consciously or not, needed to keep that connection. 

Justin used his sweat pants to secure his pack, looped his arms through the bindings and jerked the roll onto his shoulders like a hiker’s backpack. He stepped away leaving only his loft key on the floor. 

Brian pulled the door wide open to afford the greatest distance. 

As Justin passed through the doorway for the last time, he threw a quick side-glance. Their eyes met. In that instant, the walls almost fell. But the stubbornness and hurt ran too much interference to maintain that touch. The next instant, they were moving apart. There were no “later’s” . 

But there were also no “good-byes” . 

That was seven days ago. 

Still on the bridge, Brian looked out toward the three-river convergence known as Pittsburgh’s Golden Triangle. He thought of all the little “golden triangles” he’d discovered on Justin and smiled to himself. 

Then the loss hit him again and he fished through his pocket for a cigarette. He’d been trying to quit and kept a half pack just to prove he could resist the temptation. He clamped the cigarette between his lips, willed up enough control to remove it and fling it aside. If he could do that, he could wipe Justin out of his mind. 

“Hey, Sugar. You dropped this,” came a woman’s silky voice. 

Brian glanced over his shoulder. She was a good-looking lady with a high-gear smile, holding the cig out to him. Either a working girl or a cruising cop. Brian didn’t see any back-up car lurking. 

“Keep it,” he smiled. 

“Light my fire?” she slid the cigarette between her lips, leaned on the rail so their arms touched. 

Brain drew back slowly. “We’re not each other’s type.” 

“Don’t jump. He isn’t worth it.” 

Brain pulled out his lighter, flamed it and let her light that cigarette. “I wasn’t planning on jumping. And yeah, he was.” 

Why the fuck did he say that? To a stranger. Not the one who needed to hear it. Brian left her softly blowing smoke into the light breeze. He walked the downward half of the bridge to a city skyline of window lights against the evening darkness. Plan: he’d grab a bite to eat – not at the Liberty Diner, then hit a night spot – not Woody’s or Babylon. 

There was one place. It had been awhile. 

 

* * * * *

One arm wrapped around a small portfolio,Justin started up the bridge sidewalk. He’d felt so heavy the last couple days, even a short jaunt would leave him huffing for a breath. He sighed and trudged along the bridge sidewalk leading out of the city. 

Had it been only seven days ago…

Justin climbed the second landing to Ethan’s only to be cut off by a gruff old man leaning from a doorway. 

“Hey. You live with that violin kid?” He pointed up toward Mozart’s 5th, floating through the hall on the next landing. 

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Justin stopped and smiled. 

“Good for a goddamn headache. You tell him to tone it down, or I’ll get the landlord to show his and your sorry ass what’s good.” 

The door slammed so fast, Justin blinked hard. He took a second to digest the moment, then hurried up the last few steps. 

When Justin entered, Ethan stopped playing and smiled. “What happened to you?” 

“Don’t stop for me,” Justin moved close and briefly kissed his lover. “I got stuck in line at the laminator. Did you eat yet?” Justin set down his portfolio, headed into the kitchen. 

“Hadn’t thought about it till now. But I’ll love anything you throw together.” 

They exchanged a smile. In seconds, Ethan and his violin were back into their trance. Justin peered into a refrigerator full of scraps, knit his brows, pursed his lips and summoned every ounce of his creativity. 

That night, Justin lay awake on his side, eyes toward the street lamp-lit window as he tried to keep from bumping into his bedmate. Ethan was a hot sleeper, preferring to stretch out under just a sheet and without the annoyance of additional body heat. He’d mentioned that when Justin clung too close. 

When their new love was a hot roll and tumble, it seemed logical to think that staying together for the night would intensify their closeness. Now it seemed that their closeness was hottest only when it was brief. Bewildered by the feeling of something missing, Justin glanced at Ethan before carefully leaving their bed. 

He stood naked beside the window, his alabaster skin frosted in bluish light as he searched the street below for – what? He shivered, gripped his arms and looked to a dark corner of the room. Thought a moment about Brian’s half-smile, the last one, the one that let him go without so much as a wave. 

Quietly Justin moved to the corner, gathered the duvet, carried it to the couch. There he spread it out, bedded down into it and buried himself in its folds. Just for a little while. Until the chill passed. 

That was Day One in paradise. 

Now, a week later, Justin walked the last half of the bridge and wondered what to make for dinner tonight, after he emptied a sink-load of dishes. Ethan would probably practice until the guy downstairs blew a gasket again. Justin would wash the dinner dishes, then try to finish his class assignment. 

At least Ethan loved him.

* * *

Brian and Justin “pass” each other from across a short span of river – Brian on the Sixth Street Bridge, Justin on the Seventh Street Bridge. 

Song: “Illuminate” by Orbital/David Gray


	2. Waiting Out The Cold

Brian, feeling up to a little quid-quo-pro tonight, was prowling for another respectable top-Scott Turner-in the northwestern Burbs, general hangout for the last of the hunky steel workers. A repeat, but with two years gone by, an eligible recyclable. 

“Never the same one twice” was realistic only to a certain point. Unlike a Chicago or New York City, which morphed and renewed itself with new blood often, Pittsburgh prided itself on its stability. Where else could you find a guy happy to be celebrating his 35th year of being a waiter in the same fucking restaurant. 

Besides, Brian needed a break from all the haunts that coupled him to Justin’s hip, at least until he could notice faces other than just the blond-headed, pouty-lipped ones. He wasn't running away, merely taking a vacation. So he told himself. 

Just after sunset and twenty miles out of the city, Brian parked his Jeep on a side street near Morrel’s Hardware. Since the original bathhouse above the main restaurant was raided and shut down in the 80’s, there had been a gradual, discreet rebirth in the hardware store. Brian swung out, locked his car, hiked to the front door on Main Street and let himself in. 

Inside Morrel’s, a door buzzer got the attention of a tall, graying, pot-bellied roughneck reading a flyer on nail guns. 

“Brian Kinney. Well, fuck me!” 

“In your dreams, Lake. It’s good to see you’re becoming literate. Scott upstairs?” 

“I think so. C’mon.” Laker moved from behind the counter, out to the back of the showroom, “What’s it been? Least a couple years now, hunh?” 

“About that.” 

Laker held his hand open palm up, flicked his fingers in a fill-er-up motion. 

” I see nothing’s changed much,” Brian pulled out his wallet, sifted through the bills, fingered a fifty and slapped it into Laker’s hand. 

Laker grinned his thank-you, turned and led Brian to the main store showroom. 

They stopped beside a row of display shower stalls. Laker opened one stall, stepped onto a piece of cardboard inside, pushed on a back panel that opened to a stairway. 

A loud crash came from the front along with the tinkling of shattered glass. 

“Aw. This is the third fucking time!” Laker winced. 

Both men ran back, stared wide-eyed at the ragged hole of a front window and craned looks at closed shops along the nearly deserted street. Brian gaped at Laker, who shook his head with complacent routine. 

“Somebody’s Drive-By rejected lover. Been tormenting me all week.” 

“With bricks through the window?” 

“A little less subtle.” Laker reached down, lifted and waved a full-size shovel for Brian’s benefit. “I got an alarm rings loud upstairs, silent down here. Police oughtta be by in about five minutes.” Laker turned to set the shovel behind the counter. 

“Enough time for the mayor to make it out the back fire escape.” Brian brushed a patch of glass off the counter and leaned an elbow there, watched Laker’s back. “So what’s the going fetish these days?” 

“We can douse you with gasoline and burn you to the ground.” 

“THAT’S kinky,” Brian twisted a grin. 

Laker’s whitened face turned. He waved the note he’d read. “No. This is serious. It was wrapped around the shovel handle. First time I ever got anything like it.” 

A police car pulled up in front, letting out two of the Borough’s finest. They entered the store, crunching glass along the way as they scanned the damage. 

“Laker,” Officer One nodded, then tossed a nod at Brian. “Either of you guys see who did this?” 

“No. We were in back at the time,” Laker stated. 

Officer Two eyed Brian. “You from around here?” 

“Just stopped in to pick up a male receptacle.” 

“You mean female receptacle. There’s no such thing as a male receptacle,” Officer Two smiled. “ I know a little about hardware.” 

And little about anything else. Brian grinned, raised a brow. 

Laker held the threat note out to Officer One. “I got a piece of evidence here.” 

“And a shovel for the rest of it, too,” Brian added as he rose off the counter and headed for the door. “Laker. Tell Scott I stopped by.” 

Leaving Laker crying on the cops’ shoulders, Brian strolled back to the Jeep. He slowed pace at the sight of lamplight reflecting off the shaggy brown hair of a denim-clad athletic god propped against his car. 

“Thought this was your Jeep, you white-collar sonuvabich,” Scott grinned,“What the hell’re you doin’ in the Borough?” 

“Your place. Now.” Brian grabbed Scott’s jean jacket lapel, tugged him toward the passenger door. 

Scott hooked a finger into the front of Brian’s waistband and pulled back. “I’m driving. You drove last time.” 

They were eye-to-eye smiling wide. Brian gripped Scott’s hand and pulled it free. “We’ll both drive. I’ll follow you.” 

“Silver-” 

“Half-ton Chevy Truck,” Brian finished. “Don’t make me wait.” 

Watching Brian disappear into his front seat, Scott ran his tongue over his lips, anticipating at least two lusty, wild rides. 

Brian checked out Scott’s departure in the rear-view mirror, face blanching for a split-second when he could’ve sworn he saw Justin walking away in a prom tux. He blinked his eyes. Looked again and saw an empty street. He crunched his eyes closed, leaned his forehead on his steering wheel and forced himself to imagine what ways he and Scott would thrill each other tonight. 

 

* * * * *

Light from a street lamp glimmered off his hair as Justin, straddling a chair beside the open window, leaned his forehead against the chair back and tried to focus on the violin CD playing in the background. He knew Ethan had a late practice, but christ. It was dark out and dinner was cold hours ago. And there was one more little thing to discuss. 

Then the front door opened. Justin raised his head. 

“Justin? You here?” Ethan stepped inside, cautiously maneuvered to the couch. 

“Where else would I be?” 

“I told you I’d be late. What’s with the lights?” Ethan set down his violin, tugged at the lamp switch. Nothing. 

“We have one lamp and the kitchen light,” Justin sighed. “The ballast went in the fluorescent, and the lamp bulb just burned out. I figured I could crawl around and hunt for a bulb or wait till you got home.” 

“I don’t have any spares. We’ll get a couple tomorrow.” 

“Glad I didn’t look.” 

Ethan’s eyes having adjusted to the dim streetlight, he made his way over, wrapped his arms around Justin and nuzzled his neck. 

“Don’t be that way now. Let’s think of this mysterrrrious darkness as terribly sexy…and powerfully romantic.” Ethan kissed his neck. 

Justin gave in, smiled, reached up and locked his arms around Ethan’ neck. “Okay. But how sexy and romantic is cold pasta in the dark?” 

“I stopped out, so don’t worry about me.” Ethan kissed Justin’s lips and didn’t notice the chilly response. “Did you feed Wolfram?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You’re a good person. I’m so lucky to have you,” Ethan kissed him again. 

Justin slid his arms away, a moot point since Ethan had already disengaged to head for the bathroom. He hadn’t chosen Ethan so he could sit around and wait for no one to show, then have to eat alone. Justin stood up and stretched. 

“Ethan.” 

“Hmm?” 

“What happened to my duvet?” 

Ethan flipped on the bathroom light so that he became a dark silhouette standing in the doorframe. 

“I took it to the cleaners.” 

“You what?” Justin dipped his chin and rolled his eyes up, watched Ethan’s image cross arms and lean a shoulder on the doorframe. 

“I took it to the cleaners. Thought that’s what you’d want.” Ethan was more defensive than sympathetic. 

“You had no right to do that.” 

“Why?” 

Justin paced through the light pattern from the bathroom, motioned to areas of the room. “There’s like, a ton of shit here that could be cleaned. But it’s all still here.” 

“But it’s free of old ghosts. Thought I was doing us both a favor.” Ethan backed into the bathroom and slammed the door. 

His light source gone, Justin stumbled in the dark, “Ow! Shit!” scraped a shin against a wooden skid sticking past the bed mattress. 

Alarmed by Justin’s shouts, Ethan swung the bathroom door open, throwing a blast of light. Justin took advantage of the moment to grab his jacket off a chair. The move more annoyed than bewildered Ethan. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Out to buy a fucking light bulb,” Justin snarled, stormed to the front door. He stopped, ran a hand through his hair and toned down. “ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…never mind.” Then he left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Ethan took a long deep breath, let it out slowly. Wolfram padded from some unknown spot in the room and rubbed against Ethan’s legs. Ethan reached down and stroked his purring roommate. 

“Guess I should have asked first, hunh? Well, he’s just a little pissed right now. He’ll thank me for it later.” 

Ethan finished brushing his teeth, secure in his decision to oust any piece of Brian Asshole Kinney from anywhere near them, whether Justin liked it or not. He left the bathroom, moved to the window, and watched Justin stop by a lamppost to light a cigarette. 

Outside, Justin leaned against the lamppost, took a deep drag of smoke, jet it out. The last time he’d stood like that was two years ago. But back then he was scared and hopeful, had never been in love, never had an enemy. What was he now? Older. He pitched the cig down, toe-mashed it out and started walking.

* * *

Justin walks away; Ethan watches from their third floor window. 

Song: “Electrical Storm” by U2


	3. Waiting Out The Cold

Scott Turner was the suburban Kinney-equivalent. Part owner of Turner Construction, he had a classy ranch house inside 110 acres of woods, and a playroom “loft” in his basement. Hot by rougher standards, he was no clubber, but his interest in his Armani-Prada counterpart’s reputation had once lured him to a night at Babylon. 

After the initial attraction and unspoken challenge, their shack-up had turned into fierce contact sport. But the top advantage went to the most seductive asshole. Brian was always proud of that. 

Had that first evening not been cut short by an emergency call to Scott’s cell, he was sure he would’ve gotten to know another side of Brian. It took him a while to get the hazel-eyed devil out of his thoughts. But he was smart enough to realize that they would be a marriage made in a hell where even two devils couldn’t live for long. If Brian could be persuaded to break his one-nighter rule. 

Now they were suddenly together again. This time on Scott’s turf. 

Scott had a nagging sensation that Brian wasn’t totally with him, but shoved the thought to the back of his mind while waving a hand toward his latest toy. 

Brian cocked his head as he studied the contraption, slowly paced around it and stopped. 

“It’s a mechanical bull,” Scott answered. 

“Don’t tell me. Neiman Marcus was having a clearance sale.” 

“Ever try it?” 

“Fucking while bucking?” 

“Just staying on, Kinney. Though you make an interesting point.” Scott moved close to Brian’s back, took advantage of their similar height to brush his crotch across Brian’s ass. “Ever see the movie Saturday Night Fever?” 

“The two of us on that thing would be more like Saturday Night Live,” Brian raised a brow and shifted his body sideways, posturing for a different connection. 

Realizing that Scott was halfway into the first move, Brian swiftly rifled Scott’s belt loose and away. Scott countered by yanking up Brian’s shirt and trying to trap his arms upward. Brian loosed his two top buttons, ducked and pulled back quickly, leaving Scott holding an empty shirt. 

The game was on. 

 

* * * * *

Justin hesitated before walking past the Liberty Diner window. Silly feeling, considering he still worked there, even if it was only one night a week. But he wasn’t on duty tonight, and that’s when Brian was most likely to show up. Not that Justin was hoping to see him. He was out hunting for a light bulb. That was all. 

Hunching his shoulders to blur his profile, he walked by, slowed for a brief look in. He could see Emmett and Ted on one side of their usual booth, Michael alone on the other. Justin didn’t realize he’d stopped until Michael glanced right at him. He picked up pace, disappointed that Brian wasn’t there, but more upset with himself for caring about it. 

Inside the diner, Emmett’s eyes followed Michael’s gaze. 

“Is he hot and available?” 

“I thought I saw Justin,” Michael turned back. 

“There’s probably no one less available than Justin. Unless you count Brian,” Ted added as he snatched a fry off the plate they were sharing. 

“Have you talked to him lately?” Emmett leaned on crossed arms and looked at Michael. 

“He’s been pretty busy.” Michael reached for a fry, stopped. “Why do I feel like we’re the kids in a nasty divorce?” 

Emmett picked a fry off the plate and nibbled at it rather than be expected to answer. Ever a peace-lover, he found it hard being friends with two people who were so obviously avoiding each other. Was it ever comfortable to be with one without feeling like a rat to the other? 

Emmett’s sympathies favored Justin. And Michael was definitely on Brian’s side. For once, Ted was relieved that his limited importance to anyone afforded him the best position – comfortable neutrality so he could care without committing. 

Then there was Debbie. Sweeping in like a storm cloud. 

“What’s with all the cheery faces? You should be so happy there’s a diner in town that would let a bunch like you hog a booth all night with one order of fries.” 

“I’m pretty sure Justin just walked by,” Michael answered. 

“Oh,” Deb’s face drooped a moment while she scanned the empty window before recovering some metal. “If you ask me, they ‘re both a couple idiots for being too stupid to realize they’d rather be together.” She huffed around and headed to the next table. 

“Mom likes to simplify things,” Michael shook his head. 

“Me, too,” Ted tried some levity. “Now that we’ve ingested enough grease to keep from getting too drunk, ready for Woody’s?” 

Emmett nodded. Michael slid out and headed for the door. 

“I’d call that a yes,” Ted followed the others. 

“If you see Brian-” Debbie passed Michael. 

“I know. Kick his ass for you.” 

“Tell him not to be a stranger,” she quietly corrected, poked Michael’s shoulder with a finger. 

Michael nodded and smiled an acknowledgement before they both moved on. Being Brian’s best friend was hard, thankless work, with hidden rewards for anyone who cared enough to discover them. Brian sure the hell didn’t make it easy, though. 

 

* * * * *

Braced against the bull, sweaty face intense in climax, Scott grunted as Brian leaned against his back clenching his hips and pumping with hard, shallow rhythm. Scott gave a breathy shout, reached back, grabbed onto Brian’s ass and sent three shots splattering down the standing rib roast. 

Brian groaned, dropped his head onto Scott’s shoulder and had to really ram his last thrusts past Scott’s constricting muscles. Voltage surged through his groin, radiated out then back to a point of implosion. His mind flashed with white fire. The sensation of spurting liquid heat. Was that his yell? Seconds in high flight, then spinning down. 

Eyes closed, Brian licked his dry lips, one thought, one need as he pulled out. 

Scott twisted in Brian’s embrace. “Got me again, city fucker.” 

Brian’s eyes snapped open and he aborted a near kiss, his moment of white fire wiped out by a jolt of longing. 

“Anybody I know?” Scott responded to the silent stare. 

Caught in the headlights, Brian turned away, focused on stripping off the used condom and flicking it into a wastebasket. He turned back to Scott in time to catch a flying towel. 

“You’re a perfect fucking host,” Brian wiped across his face, chest and arms. 

Toweling off with one hand, Scott opened a small fridge and grabbed two beer bottles in the other hand. He motioned to the couch, let Brian grab one of the brews. Scott dropped into a recliner beside the couch, stretched his legs, watched Brian uncap his drink and guzzle a long one. 

“You didn’t answer me,” Scott twisted the cap off his beer, tossed the cap at Brian, who batted it away before it hit his chest. 

“A trick who wouldn’t leave. That ever happen to you?” 

“Stalker, hunh?” Scott swigged his drink. “Yeah. Younger guy. Can’t let them get to you,” Scott looked away and Brian could feel the bitterness. “Fuckers like us – we weren’t meant to settle, Kinney,” Scott regained eye contact, raised his bottle in a mock toast. Brian didn’t match the move. “I finally had to boot the possessive little sonuvabich out. He was starting to make my life a miserable hell.” 

“Is there any other kind,” Brian downed the last of his beer. 

“Hells that are miserable? Or twinks that make it that way?” 

Brian side-eyed with a smile, set his empty bottle on the floor and reached for the jeans he’d draped on the couch back. This was getting too heavy for a carefree fling. 

“You can’t leave now,” Scott kept a sultry tone, watched Brian finish dressing. “That’s not why you came here.” 

Brian sat, pulled on a sock. “I think we already covered that.” He donned the other sock, then his shoes, stood and stared at Scott. “I hate to be an ungrateful guest – “

“You wanted me to fuck the hell out of you. But you can’t deny your nature, can you?” Scott grinned. 

“Aye, Sir. Over and in and out,” Brian’s hand flipped a casual military salute before he turned and headed to the door. Scott followed. 

“You don’t watch it, you’ll turn into a virgin again.” 

Brian gripped the doorknob, grinned over his shoulder. “I never said I didn’t keep myself in shape.” 

“Ah, but then you lose the excitement of surprise.” 

Scott body-checked Brian against the door, expertly had his fly open and pants down. “My turn to drive.” 

Brian remembered why he’d chosen Scott. Because Scott was damn good at getting him up. A decent start in his return to fucking without caring. He smiled down at Scott’s hand reaching into his pants pocket for a condom. 

 

* * * * *

Looking down to pocket his change, Justin stepped from the Drug Store and almost ran over Emmett. 

“Justin. Sweetie!” 

It was too late for Justin to be mistaken for someone else. Emmett had already circled an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. All movement stopped as eyes darted across faces. 

Ted smiled a pleasant, “Justin. Nice seeing you.” 

Michael hung back as if leprosy could really jump that great a distance. His delayed “Justin,” nod was more sandpaper than silk. 

“Michael,” Justin touche’d. 

Emmett gripped Justin tighter and gushed a cheery, “Honey, we’re going over to Woody’s. Wanna come along?” followed by a toothy grin that dared the others to object. 

“Thanks, but I was just on my way home,” Justin saved. 

Michael cut in, “If you stop by the diner, I left a story outline in your mailbox. Call me if you have any questions. You still have a phone, don’t you?” 

Justin’s eyes narrowed. 

“Course he does,” Ted grinned nervously, grabbed Michael’s arm and herded him away. “You coming, Em?” 

“In a minute.” 

Watching Ted and Michael move on, Emmett could feel Justin still seething. He leaned close to Justin’s ear. 

“Once the blood dries, the healing’ll start. Don’t let it seem worse than it is, okay Sweetie?” 

“Like it can get worse?” 

“Uh, yea-eah. If you stop acting like a normal, functioning part of everyday life.” 

“I’m not sure what normal is anymore.” 

Emmett took a moment to observe Justin’s down-turned face. 

“Is…everything okay? I mean with…” 

“Ethan.” 

“Yeah. Ethan.” 

“I guess things will work out,” Justin said with less conviction than he’d hoped. 

Emmett picked it up but glazed over it with another kiss. “Just remember. Your friends don’t give up on you. Namely me!” He raised his arms to punctuate, did a showy spin and chirped, “Take care, Baby, and if you need me, just call.” He turned and jaunted after his distant pals. 

Justin watched the trio join up and couldn’t help smiling. Emmett had a way of doing that for people. When Justin had considered post-Brian fallout, he dreaded thoughts of losing friendships he’d come to respect and treasure. He told himself he was young and would soon develop his own circle of friends. 

But they wouldn’t be like those guys. His family. EvenMichael – who at present he preferred to consider an asshole, twat, jerk, groaner, scuzz – what Justin would give to have somebody as loyal as Michael standing by his side. Brian was luckier than he realized. 

Maybe Brian was already at Woody’s. Maybe that’s why Emmett invited him. Ending the icy separation was the only way back to normalcy. 

Justin suddenly realized that his motionless stance was drawing suspicious side-glances from passers-by. He looked up Liberty, his chest heaving lightly. Then he glanced at the bag in his hand, expelled a decisive breath and turned back. 

He stalled at the Diner doorway. 

In the Diner, Debbie was just dumping some spent coffee grounds when she saw Justin’s approach. 

“Sunshine! Did you forget what day it is?” 

“Michael left a note in my mailbox,” he swooped past her, ducked into the kitchen area. 

Justin opened a large envelope, pulled its contents. After reading only two lines, he muttered, “Shit,” crammed the papers back into the envelope and double-timed his way to the door, right past Debbie waiting on a table. 

“See ya, Deb.” 

She started to answer, but saw only the closing door. 

 

* * * * *

Brian pulled his jeep door shut, sat in the dark and leaned his head back, face somber, eyes staring. The Scott-high lasted about as long as it took for Brian to key his ignition. He drew a long breath, let it out sharply and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to bring back some of the night’s highlights. He fucked and got off. Got fucked and got off. That was about it. 

He opened his eyes, glanced at the empty seat beside him and knew what was missing. 

Determined to beat the gloom, he reached into his glove compartment, retrieved a tape, shoved it into the deck. He turned the volume to blasting and roared the Jeep down Scott’s long driveway. 

Reaching a main road lit only by a bright moon, Brian turned right, sped up. 

A BMW sat hidden by trees just off the road on the other side of Scott’s drive. Inside, a young man’s clenched fist struck the steering wheel before starting the car and shifting into gear. The dash lit, the headlights blasted and the BMW moved onto the road. Through the front windshield, Brian’s fading taillights stayed visible.

* * *

The Jeep and trailing white BMW flow in light traffic along the Fort Pitt Bridge heading into the city of Pittsburgh. 

Song: “7 AM” by Dirty Vegas


	4. Waiting Out The Cold

In the small stockroom behind the Comic Book Store counter Ben found Michael so engrossed in a stack of invoices, Michael hadn’t heard him. 

“Breakfast is served.” 

Michael spun around, smiled at the lover who swooped in for a quick kiss. 

“You know we can’t do a protein brunch at the store,” Michael kissed back. 

“I was talking about coffee and bagels,” Ben lifted a bag and shook lightly. “Deb said you skipped breakfast.” 

“My hero.” 

“Me or Deb?” 

Their intended kiss was interrupted by the tinkling doorbell. 

“Hold that thought,” Michael held up a finger, wormed around Ben and peeked into the store. Sighting Justin, Michael pulled back and shook his head. 

“Justin’s out there. And I’m sure it’s not for the latest North Star.” 

“Look. You guys are partners in this.” 

“It’s just that…after what he did…” 

“Like it or not, Brian’s not a saint in this, either,” Ben leaned close to Michael’s ear and kept low. “As your friend, and your lover, and your third disinterested party, I suggest you check your attitude about Brian and go have a tax-deductible meal with your business partner.” Ben held up the bagel bag. 

“You make me sick when you’re right,” Michael smiled. “And leave the receipt.” He took the bag and left the room. 

Despite good intentions, Justin’s and Michael’s initial eye-contact spewed bad feelings. 

“Hey, Michael. I came to talk about the story outline. Is this a good time?” Justin glanced around the empty store. 

Michael opened the bag, set out a couple napkins, two coffees, two bagels. “Yeah. Here. Eat.” 

“Were you expecting somebody?” 

“You know what big eaters Novotny’s are. Jelly or butter?” 

Justin stared a moment. It was obvious Michael was gesturing for a truce. “Just a coffee. Thanks.” Justin picked a cup, uncapped it and sipped while Michael buttered a bagel. 

“Michael…I thought we were supposed to be in agreement if we add a new character.” 

Michael stopped in the midst of buttering. 

“I guess I thought you’d agree to a change. I mean, put the focus on…other characters.” 

“You should have asked me. I’ve got this major class project due next week, and I thought I could use those drawings I did for the Gay Pride piece. The one we talked about before.” 

“Well, we weren’t exactly on talking terms lately.” 

“I don’t have time to work up sketches for a new character,” Justin sparked. 

“Okay. We’ll go with the Gay Pride story,” Michael flared. 

“If you want me out of this, I’m sorry, but it’s my best shot at an income for now and I’m not giving it up.” 

“I didn’t ask you to. And I wasn’t adding a character to piss you off. Did you read the whole thing?” 

“Not yet,” Justin shook his head. 

“Well, if you get a chance…” Michael stopped and looked hard at Justin to go to the heart of the conflict. “We may as well get this the fuck over with. I did what I thought I had to do.” 

“So did I,” Justin railed then softened. “It might not have looked all that good, but it’s what I had to go with at the time…and it wasn’t all me.” Justin glanced at his watch. “I’m due at the Diner. I’ll get the drawings back to you this week. Thanks for the coffee,” he added then turned and left. 

Ben stole from the back room, cupped his hands on Michael’s shoulders and brushed a cheek against his hair as they watched Justin go out the door. 

“You’re both still alive and still partners.” 

“Barely. I can’t get past what he did to Brian.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because Brian still loves him.” 

“Then Brian should do something about it, not you.” 

Michael twisted a wry smile Ben’s direction, and got a serious expression in return. 

 

* * * * *

Debbie’s face lit at the sight of Brian, dressed Saturday casual, swinging his lanky form into a booth. Not wanting to give it away, she put on more of the scowl she thought he deserved, grabbed her check pad and stepped up to his table. 

“So you’re not dead. You look like it though.” 

“And I didn’t eat anything here yet.” 

“Justin comes on in ten minutes. That’s just in case you’re not looking for him.” 

“Thank you, Town Crier.” 

“You know what your problem is?” 

“He grew up and I didn’t. Now let me mull over that in Kinney-time. End of discussion. Just coffee.” 

Debbie froze wide-eyed before recovering. 

“I oughtta smack you in the head, you little shit. But I’m proud you’re smarter than I was beginning to think.” 

“Did I tell you how much I’ve missed your kind words?” 

Debbie grabbed a full sugar container off a neighboring table, plopped it in front of Brian and smiled softly. “I know how sweet you like it.” 

“My coffee, please?” 

“Asshole” she smirked, glad to have him back. 

Justin zipped through the front door and was halfway down the counter before he noticed Brian. Like a mouse in a snake cage, Justin stepped lightly, gave a quick glance with his, “Hey,” before darting behind the counter and grabbing his apron. 

Debbie side-eyed Brian, who answered her with an I’ll-be-good rise of a brow. 

“Black coffee over there,” she told Justin, tilted her head at Brian, then hustled to the pickup station to be scarce and keep a watchful eye at the same time. 

Justin took a deep breath, lifted the coffee pot and swiveled around the end of the counter, headed toward Brian. Best to take Brian’s expected sarcastic wrath now and get it over with. 

A few days ago, Brian might have spit acid. But he’d thought things out, claimed his share of blame and decided to be a man about it. He knew that Justin’s loudly clearing his throat was always a high-tension give away. 

Justin focused on pouring without looking at Brian. 

“So how’s it going?” 

“Good. You?” 

“Alright.” 

“We sound like a fucking French lesson.” 

Here it goes, Justin rolled his eyes, lifted the pot away. He could see Debbie strutting in fast. 

“Is the coffee hot enough?” Debbie glared at Brian, hands on hips. 

“It would taste better if I had company. Justin? Join me?” Brian eyed Justin; Justin looked at Debbie who nodded, took the coffee pot, turned and distanced herself. 

Justin sat across from Brian. The closeness was unnerving. Too many good and bad feelings were still running hot, making eye contact both exciting and painful. 

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Justin started, hands fidgeting under the table. 

“Did somebody suggest that?” 

“Don’t joke about it, Brian. You know what I mean.” 

“We’re both big boys. Let it go. So you’re only working Saturdays now?” Brian dumped an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee and stirred. 

“I got a part time job at the PIFA Copy Shop. I work there between classes and a couple nights a week.” 

“Pay decent?” 

“I’m still eating,” Justin smiled the first warm one. It got a similar return from Brian. 

“Everything else okay?” 

With Brian staring right at him, and the pain of past lies still smarting, Justin tipped his head matter-of-factly. “Could be better, but then what couldn’t?” 

Brian felt a little tug but wisely kept from digging. “Vanguard’s been keeping me busy.” 

“You make yourself too available.” 

“It’s keeping me off the streets.” 

“I doubt that,” Justin caught himself, sucked a breath and glanced away. 

Brian took the jab and bit his tongue. He grinned wide, tapped his teaspoon on the table, one end, the other, repeated the move. 

“Brian, I’m-” 

Brian stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s okay. You get one shot. But only one.” From his vantage point, Brian noticed patrons drifting in. “Better get back to work before Deb hires somebody else.” 

Justin stood up feeling like he’d wounded an unarmed man. “Brian-” 

“Justin…good to see you again. I mean that.” 

“I know. You never lied to me,” Justin gave a hint of a smile, turned and became a waiter again. 

Brian exhaled a breath, left a half cup of coffee, left a buck tip and left the diner relieved that he’d restrained all searing comments. Not that they weren’t boiling just under the surface. But he’d kept in check, and it was worth it just to see Justin smile. 

Justin caught Brian’s departure and felt his spirits drop a bit. Any time Brian left, Justin couldn’t help missing him. More important, they were speaking again. For the first time since the Rage party, Justin didn’t feel like an unwelcome stranger in Brian’s world. 

Debbie looked on with melancholy satisfaction. Her boys were trying so hard. 

 

* * * * *

On a large desk sat a state-of-the-art flat-screen computer, a pricey stereo system, and a stack of software CD’s. A young man’s fingers played the keyboard and a digital picture of Brian’s loft building appeared onscreen. File window: Print. A hard copy spit from a high-speed color laser printer and into the waiting fingers of the operator. 

On a gray fabric bulletin board were other pictures: two of homes, one of Morrel’s Hardware Store. The young man’s hand removed the picture of the store and pinned Brian’s loft in its place. 

 

* * * * *

In his dark silk robe, Brian stood before his full-length mirror and wondered if he saw a confident, good-looking, successful business wizard, or some empty, aging playboy with a loft full of imported Italian versions of Scott’s mechanical bull. 

He sat at a desk strewn with computer print-outs, an ashtray he’d filled before he quit smoking, a half-filled wine glass. He studied a computer display, penned a few notes on a blue legal pad, yawned and looked at his bed. This was the worst time of the night for him. Their time. 

Brian recalled watching Justin sleep. As much as he wanted to forget the image, he hungered for it strongly tonight. He stared at his blue notepad. How Justin looked in the blue lights. And he started a sketch with just a little hairline against a pillow. A hint of lips. Nose. Eyes. Closed. 

Brian’s eyes glazed. He swore it was too much beer, Beam or wine making him weary. Justin used to look at him with such adoration. 

No. Open. 

Brian detailed Justin’s eyes. Wide open. Something there. Something special. 

He used white-out to give them sparkle. A fingertip dipped in cigarette ashes gave shading to cheekbones and jaw line. It was not a work of fine detail, but of only the essence that needed to be there. So it looked unfinished, like a ghost not quite materialized. But the eyes were strong and soft and as real as he could make them. 

He didn’t like to draw. It took a sensitivity from too deep inside to risk exposing. But as with many of his rules, there was one exception. 

Brian stared at his insides, bled out and imaged across his marketing scrawls. In ashes. 

He frowned, stripped the sheet off his pad, pitched it into the wastebasket. Then he downed the last of his wine and concentrated on the computer screen again.

* * *

Brian sketches Justin’s picture, realizes how much he misses him but that it’s over. He throws the drawing away. 

Song: BT-Dreaming (Evolution Mix) by Deep Dish


	5. Waiting Out The Cold

Justin had the small apartment carpeted in drawings, the ultimate catwalk. 

“No. Out. Come on, get off,” Justin huffed, sat back on his legs. Wolfram plopped down just out of reach. 

Ethan laughed low. “Wolfram,” he called. The cat sped to his side. “It’s my authoritative tone – “

“And tuna on a cracker, jerk. I can smell it from here,” Justin smiled and watched Ethan treat the beast. 

“Now there’s a real smile,” Ethan watched Justin. “This is the most relaxed I’ve seen you all week. Feeling more settled?” 

Justin kept his eyes on sorting drawings. “Uh, yeah.” 

Ethan skirted between pages to get to Justin, knelt behind him, circled his arms around Justin’s waist and whispered in his ear,“It’s Sunday, it’s sunny, and we’re going to a free concert at the Carnegie Library parking lot.” 

“Can’t. I have to work on Rage,” Justin threw up his arms as if Ethan wasn’t there. “I can’t believe they’re missing. You didn’t see another box of my stuff around here anywhere, did you?” Justin craned around. 

Ethan’s expression flattened. “Everything you brought is spread all over the place.” He stood up and picked his way back to the kitchen, opened the fridge. 

“Ethan, I don’t complain about how long you play.” 

Ethan grabbed a bottle of wine, slammed the fridge, sauntered back toward Justin. “I thought you liked my playing.” 

“I DO. It’s just…dammit.” Justin ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll bet they’re still at the loft.” 

“What about the loft?” 

“My Rage sketches. I had ‘em on the bed. Fuck.” Justin stood up with hands on hips as he scanned his drawings. 

Ethan’s eyes blazed. “You’re not going over there. Have Michael find them and leave them at the Diner.” He popped the cork on the wine and took a drink. 

“I’m not asking Michael for any favors. The cleaning lady knows me. I’ll just meet up with her tomorrow.” 

“You really need to go back there, hunh?” Ethan smacked the bottle down on the counter. 

“I’m not going inside. What is WITH you?” Justin glared. 

“I should be asking YOU that.” 

“This is my work. Part of what I do for money. You know, the stuff that helps pay for rent and tuition and books, movies, cat food…” Justin jammed his hands into his pockets. This conversation seemed so familiar. 

“Don’t forget cigarettes.” 

“I cut back a lot. I told you I’m working on quitting.” 

Ethan snatched up his violin and headed for the door. Justin stared. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Carnegie Library. Stop by if you can tear yourself away from Rage.” 

Ethan dashed out and yanked the door shut before Justin could think of something to say. 

 

* * * * *

Mel peeked past the door curtain, let the curtain fall back, rolled her eyes and swiveled her head toward Lindsay. 

“It’s the Prodigal Father.” 

“Don’t call him that,” Lindsay quickly folded a blanket, tossed it on the couch arm and hustled to the door. “He’s been beat on enough already.” 

“Get what you give. Pulling that shit on Justin. And getting us involved in it,” Mel stepped aside and put on a classic fake smile as Lindsay opened the door. 

“Brian!” Lindsay glowed. 

“Hi, Mom…and Mom,” Brian strolled in, eyes searching. “Where’s my Sonny Boy?” 

“Finally asleep,” Mel folded her arms over her chest. 

Lindsay answered Brian’s silent question. “He had a cold, but he’s getting over it.” 

“We took turns watching his temp every hour. You picked a good week to disappear.” 

“Mel,” Lindsay shot before returning to Brian. “Where have you been? We were worried about you.” 

“You don’t have to answer in mixed company if you don’t want,” Mel moved away and into the kitchen. 

Lindsay defended in low tones. “She’s just a little tired. She really missed you, too.” 

“Bad aim, I’m sure,” Brian sat on the couch. “He’ll be okay, though? Did you take him to the doctor?” 

Lindsay thought a moment before answering. “Why don’t you go up and see him?” she smiled. 

Brian slow-blinked a thank you, got up and made for the steps. 

Gus’s eyes were open and active. Brian leaned into the crib, gathered him up and huggedhim to his chest. 

“You’re the one sure thing in my life,” he whispered against the sleepy, wispy-haired head. 

“There was another one,” Lindsay softly added from the doorway. 

Still hugging Gus close, Brian turned to Lindsay. “He was too young. I should’ve stopped it a long time ago. Let him be a kid.” Brian nuzzled his son’s head. Gus stayed quietly cooperative in safe, strong arms. 

“Right now he could be a kid with an abused body and a warped outlook on life because he got picked up by the wrong guy.” Lindsay crossed her arms, countered Brian’s subtle guilt. “He would’ve buried his talent away because he had no desire to use it. And what lofty rule dictates you have to be a certain age before you can officially be capable of love?” 

“It’s not about capability. It’s about choice. Seeing what’s out there before you decide. You had that opportunity…I certainly did.” So much for no regrets. 

“Brian, you’re the only one I know who could find something and still keep looking for it.” 

Brian froze, let that one whistle past him. He took a deep breath, leaned Gus out and matched the toddler’s smile. “Some fresh air might do us all some good.” 

“I think we can take him for a little walk. But just a little one.” 

Lindsay knew when to back off. 

 

* * * * *

Late that evening, Brian idled the Jeep at a Northside intersection despite the lack of a traffic light or stop sign. He looked up at the darkened third floor window of a familiar building then drove on. 

 

* * * * *

Brian zapped the “Monday Afternoon Special” Smiley post-it off a folder cover, tossed the sticker, opened the folder and read. He shook his head in disbelief, slapped the packet onto his desk and briefly pinched the bridge of his nose to ease some tension. 

Cynthia leaned into Brian’s open office doorway. Brian could sense it with eyes closed. 

“Thank you for the Smiley,” he dead-panned. “I should’ve kept it and trashed this proposal.” 

“I know. I read it first. Brian, you have a walk-in. He says he’s a friend of yours. Scott Turner from Turner Construction?” 

Brian brushed a hand over the hair on his neck. What was THIS about. “Send him in.” 

Seconds after Cynthia disappeared, Scott entered, looking smoother in Hugo Boss than his usual CK’s. 

“Brian,” Scott smiled and sat down like it was his own office. “Very you,” his eyes traveled around the modern, sleek lines and settled back on Brian. 

Brian tented his fingers in thought. “Let’s see. I had all my clothes on when I left, two years haven’t gone by yet, so I take it you’re here for business?” 

“Conrad Builders. Know them?” 

“I can.” 

“They’re going tri-State, right up against us.” 

“I thought you had an internal marketing staff.” 

“Not for a major campaign.” 

Brian leaned forward. “Are you out for equal exposure or blood?” 

Scott gave a sly smile. “What’s the going rate on blood?” 

“Not cheap.” 

“Even for a friend?” 

“Am I a friend on your payroll?” 

“Maybe. Why don’t you invite me to lunch on your dime, and we’ll talk.” 

Brian smiled. Scott was savvy to the perks of being a potential client, and never too proud to expect them. 

 

* * * * *

Justin stood on the step outside the door to Brian’s building and scanned faces while finishing a smoke. 

In Brian’s bedroom, Debbie’s Jayne-Mansfield-Blond-wigged transvestite friend, Ida, felt around the crevice at the head of the mattress. He finally located a sketchpad marked Rage-Pride lodged between the mattress and dresser, fanned through pages of computer drawings. 

“Better make sure,” he cased the room, opened Justin’s drawers and shook his head at the empty space. 

Ida carefully shuffled through the papers on Brian’s desk. He noticed the drawing in the wastebasket, reached in and rescued it. Something beautifully haunting about it said this self-portrait must have been thrown out by mistake. He slid it between the pages of the Justin’s sketchpad. 

When Ida stepped outside and handed over the sketchpad, Justin almost kissed him. 

“That’s it!” Justin lifted the Rage-Pride cover, smiled at the top drawing, shut the pad and wedged it under his arm. “ Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

“I should be so happy there’s less to clean,” Ida looked at him through somber eyes. “But the place is too empty without you.” 

“Not for long,” Justin wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “With me gone, it’s probably the Grand Central of Pittsburgh.” 

“You would think so, hunh, dearie? Well, unless Marathon Man is bare-backing, there hasn’t been more than one used condom in the trash all week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I get paid to clean up,” Ida winked and disappeared back inside. 

Justin stared after him and took a moment to digest the comments before moving on. 

 

* * * * *

Brian and Scott fit right into the Country Club atmosphere. Sitting across from each other at a secluded table, bourbons-on-the-rocks in hand, they drew stares from diamond-decked women already with other successful businessmen. 

Scott laid a file envelope on the table, pushed it toward Brian. 

“We’re bidding on the same downtown parking structure. We look good enough, even if we come in a little high we still have a decent shot. Everywhere people see Conrad, I want ‘em to see Turner bigger and better.” 

“What time frame are we talking?” Brian stared unblinking. 

“I’ve got a mole at Neville Agency in Ohio. She says – “

“She?” 

“I always say, don’t limit the fuckables. Never can tell where your next ally may turn up. She says their campaign flies in three weeks.” 

He’d always suspected Scott went both ways. With all those allies, the brazen shit should have been richer than Bill Gates by now. Brian eyed the envelope, drummed his fingers on it. “That doesn’t leave us much of a window. Let me wade through it tonight to see what hits.” 

When Brian looked back at Scott, his eyes couldn’t help spotting an approaching young man, sunny blond – very much like Justin, beautiful face, heavier build but sharp in a Boss three-piece. Probably in his twenties. 

Noticing Brian’s gaze, Scott twisted a look over his shoulder. 

“Hi, Scott,” the blond smiled a real winner, practically leaned on Scott. 

“Chris,” Scott didn’t smile. “I’m in a meeting.” 

“I didn’t want to drive by without a hello,” Chris kept his smile, flicked a look at Brian. 

“Brian Kinney,” Brian reached out a hand. 

“Christian Harris, Turner Electrical,” Chris responded with a terse shake. His steely cool eyes certainly weren’t like Justin’s. 

Scott aimed Chris a “Nice seeing you again,” with a stiff get-lost quality. 

“Brian,” Chris nodded, laser-eyeing him while pressing a hand like a branding iron on Scott’s shoulder. Brian could feel the heat across the table. “See you around, Scott.” 

Chris turned away and drifted to the exit. 

“If looks could kill…” Brian noted. 

“If looks could kill, you’d be stepping over dead bodies every time you walked into a room,” Scott toasted with his drink. “I admit, Chris is an eyeful. Helluva fuck, too. Want good advice? Stay away from him. He expects too much.” 

Brian ran his tongue against his cheek. As much as he wanted to be flattered, he had seen what Scott didn’t, or did and ignored. At one time Brian would have considered Chris an intriguing challenge. But watching the back of Chris’s blond head brought back the pang of watching Justin walk away. 

There were other challenges. Brian downed his drink in a gulp and snatched up the file folder. 

 

* * * * *

Monday at noon in the PIFA Copy Office was alive with the hum and swish of paper running through the giant main copier. 

Justin stood with a tall, skinny kid in a Talk Nerdy To Me tee shirt and watched him pull open a drawer sloppy with crammed papers. 

“I need you to go through all these files and pull out the ones that haven’t been active in a year.” 

“Are these like business files?” 

“Nah. They’re for PIFA students who ask us to do work for them once in awhile…report covers, presentation boards…stuff like that. We keep master copies in case they need more done. But not forever. Take this dude.” 

Nerdy pulled a file, opened it on the desk and fanned out about twenty sheets of artwork along with a log sheet. Nerdy handed the log sheet to Justin, who took and scrutinized it. “See the last date? Dude’s probably graduated and gone already.” 

Nerdy took the log from Justin’s hand, gathered the rest of the file and tossed it into a large trash can, leaving the empty file folder on the counter. 

“That’s what you do. Think you’ll be okay? ’

“Yeah,” Justin nodded. 

“I’ll be over by Bertha if you need any help.” Nerdy walked back to the control center of the big copier with “Bertha” painted on the side. 

Justin pulled the first folder, checked it, straightened its contents and replaced it. Midway down the drawer, one of his own drawings peeked from a messy folder. He ran a finger to the name tab and tipped it for a look. Ethan Gold. 

Flattered and smiling, Justin pulled the folder, flipped through the contents. They were copies of CD covers. The top page was his drawing, and the back cover dedicated to him. The copy of his drawing which stuck out, had a back cover dedicated to Martin. Same songs. 

Justin’s smile faded as he spread several sheets on the counter. One dedicated to Paul. Andrew. Tony. Darryl. Micah. The log showed five since his own. 

Justin drew and exhaled a long breath. He straightened Ethan’s folder, shoved it back into its spot, leaned stiff-armed on the cabinet and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“Justin. You okay over there?” Nerdy shouted. 

Justin glanced back with, “Yeah. Fine,” before pulling another folder. It wasn’t like Ethan shouldn’t be proud of his music, Justin reasoned. But that didn’t make him feel any better about it. The fact that Ethan had used Justin’s drawing on someone else’s CD might have made up for it, if not for one thing.

* * *

Justin watches “Bertha” spit endless copies into a tray, imagines CD covers with his artwork, dedicated to different names. 

Song: “The Bug” by Dire Straits


	6. Waiting Out The Cold

Body beaded with spray, Brian leaned back against his shower wall and imagined Justin stepping through the misty steam. The rush from looking into enigmatic innocent, wicked eyes. Watching hair so blond even wet-open anxious lips going down, down. 

Head back, mouth open, eyes closed, Brian wrapped a hand around his swollen cock and jerked off with his memories. 

 

* * * * *

Head raised, mouth open, eyes closed, Justin leaned back against the mildewed tile of the small shower stall, convulsed and gasped loudly as he came, mind lost in hazel eyes. 

Three raps on the door urged Justin to a hasty rinse. “What?” 

Ethan’s voice was muffled from outside. “Jus? You okay in there? The door’s locked.” 

Justin shut off the water, whipped a towel over his body and opened the door. 

“Sorry. Must’ve hit the button by accident,” he bypassed Ethan’s attempted kiss without even looking. 

Standing naked and confused, Ethan watched Justin dress like the building was on fire. 

“Okay, love of my life. You’re obviously not up for breakfast. What’d I do now?” 

Justin stalled in the middle of donning a shoe. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

“We’ll talk about it now,” Ethan moved closer. 

“I’m already late for class,” Justin stood, roamed the room and collected sketchbooks. 

“Tonight, then,” Ethan squeezed Justin’s arm, stopping him mid-dash. “Oh. Don’t forget, I’ll probably run a little late. But I’ll be here.” 

“Yeah. I know the routine,” Justin twisted away and hurried to the door. 

Ethan blew a hard breath as he watched the door shut. Maybe tonight was not a good night to hang out with the Orchestra Club. 

 

* * * * *

Cynthia entered Brian’s office and was surprised to see him in jeans, turtleneck and leather jacket as he slid sample posters into his portfolio. 

“I rescheduled your next meeting and cancelled the luncheon,” she confirmed, followed by a disapproving scan of his attire. “I thought you had a business meeting.” 

“I do,” he zipped the portfolio shut. “Turner Construction. We’re meeting…” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, sighed and shook his head, “…on site.” 

“Oh my,” Cynthia chuckled. “Dirt, dust –“

“Let’s not forget all that heavy equipment,” Brian did a tongue-in-cheek, grabbed his portfolio and flew out the door. 

Cynthia shook her head and grinned. Only Brian would be cocky enough to trust his gay-dar in a breeder jungle like a construction site. 

 

* * * * *

Justin’s portfolio sat against the leg of a commercial swing set where he and Brian often took Gus. Too cold for any toddlers, the playground was deserted except for Justin sitting on a swing and rocking like some eighty-year-old hermit on a porch. 

He wasn’t aware of any movement around him until creaking chains made him jump, spin his head and see Brian’s tall form compacted on the neighboring seat. 

“Jesus! You scared the hell out of me.” 

“I’ll have to brush up on my playground-pervert skills. Why aren’t you in class?” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” 

Brian jet a steamy breath, uncoiled to a stand and turned to walk away. “I was driving by and thought I recognized somebody I knew.” He didn’t plan a fight. 

“Wait.” Justin palmed his temple and looked up. “I missed my stop and ended up here.” He wasn’t sure why. His hand dropped and he glanced at both hands, cold in his lap. 

“Well, being here will get you two things for sure. First, you’ll freeze your ass off. Then you’ll hate yourself for missing class and having all that make-up work. Don’t say you won’t. I’ve been that route with you.” 

“You were an asshole then and you’re still one now,” Justin struck mildly. 

“Come on. I’ll drive you back.” 

Brian shoved his hands into his pockets and loped to the Jeep. Justin snatched his portfolio and double-timed to catch up. 

In the warmth and closeness of the car, Brian risked throwing deep. 

“If you wanna talk about it, I promise no kicks or cuts.” 

Justin closed his eyes and leaned his head back, cleared his throat in a loud grunt. “Between the three jobs and school, I guess I’m on the edge a lot, that’s all. The Rage sketches are due and it’s been hard…” he trailed to silence. 

“Working with Mikey,” Brian finished, drawing Justin’s stare. 

“He’s your friend. I know you don’t like to go there.” 

“Whatever happened to those two happy little clams who shared the same brain?” 

“He doesn’t come to me with things that involve me. He goes around me. I can’t work with that.” 

“I’d say first you have to ask yourself, is it the man? Or was it the situation?” After giving Justin a couple moments to ruminate, “As one of the main authorities on Michael Novotny, I can tell you without a doubt, a man could trust his life with him.” 

“I’m not you.” 

“No, you’re not. But that doesn’t change him.” 

Brian stopped the Jeep at PIFA, turned to Justin without realizing he’d swung his arm across the seatback and nearly onto Justin’s shoulders. 

“Work it out. Then the next thing. Before you know it, everything will start falling into place.” 

Justin stared into that smile, those eyes, almost pressed against Brian’s arm. “Okay,” he nodded, remembering what he loved most about the man. 

Brian almost leaned in to kiss him. Almost. But he pulled his arm back and grabbed the steering wheel. His cramped dick twitched against his will. 

Justin snapped back, opened the door and rolled out. He yanked his portfolio from behind the seat, blurted, “Thanks for the ride,” slammed the door and jogged toward PIFA. 

Brian let out a sharp breath, right hand twisting on the steering wheel until finally locating the shift lever. He could remember every second past their first words. Before that, all he could recall was driving, thinking he saw Justin. . . then sitting on the swing. 

Justin hiked the stairs with renewed energy. He had a resolution for one problem. But a new complication for another. 

 

* * * * *

Brian focused his camera lens on the impressive sight of Scott in a hard hat, sheepskin denim jacket half-open as he pointed to a massive dump truck with tires big enough to cover a wall of the loft. 

“That baby’ll haul three hundred tons in one load,” Scott looked back at Brian. “What the hell’re you doing?” 

“Saving the cost of hiring a model, and personalizing your new campaign.” Brian snapped one more before packing the camera away. “So what’s management doing on the firing line?” 

“You can’t manage effectively if you don’t know what the hell your people do,” Scott perched a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “So let’s see what you brought.” 

Scott and Brian walked back to the mobile home office where their vehicles sat side-by-side. 

Inside beyond the front office, in a comfortably furnished living room, Brian lined five mounted pieces along the dark leather couch. Scott flicked on lights and shut the blinds so passing gawkers wouldn’t see the display, raise question and reveal the secret weapon. 

“We hit the commercial market with these,” Brian pointed to the three bold, stylized prints of well-known Turner high-rises captioned: Solid, Straight-Forward, Driving Hard to Build Your Future – Turner Construction in lettering designed to look like concrete framed in steel. 

“And these are more for mainstream housing.” Two had child-like crayon drawings of homes graduating to impressive, multi-buck Turner mansions captioned: You Dreamed It, You Earned it, You Deserve It – Turner Construction

Scott was especially interested in the fifth mock-up, which he lifted and studied. “It’s our proposed parking garage.” Same caption as the commercial adds. 

“In scale and in exactly the right location. For the local campaign,” Brian grinned, handed Scott a one-sheet detail. “Here’s where and when we run. Turner is in black and, of course, Conrad is in red.” Brian laid a contract in Scott’s reach. “All I need is your signature. The areas are flagged.” 

“Nice work. I’ll have my lawyers – “

“Your source got you late word about Conrad’s campaign, your internal staff couldn’t handle it because there wasn’t enough lead time, and you came to me despite my bonus clause because I have the connections and balls to make this work. So fuck the lawyers and sign here. I didn’t earn my reputation by fucking clients over. In a figurative sense. And as a show of respect for YOU, I left my notary at home.” Brian smiled and presented his pen. 

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re a bitch,” Scott snatched the pen and signed. “I think it warrants a celebration tonight,” Scott handed back the paperwork, stepped behind a small bar, set up two rocks glasses and a fancy unmarked bottle. 

Brian gathered his prints together. “I wouldn’t call Morell’s much of a celebration.” 

“Forget Morell’s. Laker shut down after somebody threatened to torch the place.” Scott stooped for ice in the under-counter freezer. 

“That’s a shame. He was decent. For a straight fucker with no class,” Brian zipped his work into his portfolio. 

Scott returned with two drinks, handed one to Brian. “Only proves that if you really wanna fuck somebody’s mind, go after the safety and security of his home.” 

“Do you peddle panic with your homes?” Brian side-eyed with a grin. 

“Sells a lot of security systems. Here’s to blood.” 

Scott and Brian clinked glasses and drank. 

On a hilltop access road above the worksite, a burley Foreman nodded at Chris through the driver’s side window of the parked BMW. After the man passed, Chris retrieved the field glasses hidden at his feet and tossed them onto the passenger side floor. He leaned back, chest heaving, eyes staring at some distant point past the car roof. Brian. Again. 

 

* * * * *

Justin’s eyes watched those of the geriatric Instructor scrutinizing a photo and matching oil painting of a forest. 

“Hmmm.” The man never smiled. “Brush hairs. I suggest you buy better sables.” 

Justin winced. “Cat hair.” 

“Cat hair brushes? I never heard of – “

“No. I mean…I’m doing a little experimenting. With texture.” 

“Hmm. I suggest that you follow the lesson plan. Experimenting is for seniors who are sure they know it all.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“And remember. When you mount?” 

“Sir?” Justin tensed. 

“Rubber cement is man’s best friend.” With that, the Instructor finally smiled, nodded, handed back the photo and painting and walked away. 

Justin exhaled slowly. He checked his work, frowned, picked a hair off with a fingernail and wondered how he’d missed that one. 

Picturing Brian on a swing kept Justin level through an exasperating day. He was still smiling when he unlocked the apartment door and walked into an unexpected one-arm embrace. 

“Ethan. I thought you’d be late.” 

“I took care of dinner. Aaaaand. . .” Ethan held a single red rose a couple feet in front of Justin’s face. “I know you’re allergic to flowers, but one little one can’t hurt.” 

Justin took the rose, stared with a private wish. He glanced at Ethan’s questioning eyes and could barely make out Brian on the swing. “Thank you,” he smiled and gave in to a more meaningful kiss. 

“Wolfram’s in the bathroom so we can be alone,” Ethan slouched down to a fruit-cheese-wine-and-candle floor table, watched Justin drop cross-legged beside him. “You always look beautiful in candlelight.” 

“Is this some kind of anniversary?” Justin set the rose beside the cheese tray, poured wine into both glasses, lifted his and sipped. 

“Every day with you is worth celebrating.” Ethan spoke warmly, downed his wine. “So what did you want to talk to me about?” 

Justin’s eyes hit the rose, jumped back to Ethan. His smile thinned. 

Ethan’s confident smile waned as well. He switched his focus to refilling their drinks. “Maybe it’s not that important.” 

“Ethan, when I gave you my drawing, and you used it on your CD, I thought you were proud of my work.” 

“Of course I am,” Ethan’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why do you think I used it?” 

“Because I tried to make you perfect.” 

“One of the reasons I love you so much.” 

“Then why isn’t my name on the credits?” Justin hurriedly drank half his wine to hold back stronger words. 

“What?” Ethan sat straight up. “Why those fucking printers! You think they could follow simple directions.” Ethan stood and paced with convincing ire. He dropped to his knees against Justin’s back. “I’ll get it straightened out first thing tomorrow.” He massaged Justin’s shoulders, kissed his neck. 

Justin was persuaded enough to touch Ethan’s hand, but still uneasy about his sincerity. “Wasn’t that CD supposed to be dedicated to me?” 

Ethan shrugged. “I always personalize my CD’s.” 

“I have to work on Rage,” Justin set down his glass, pulled away from Ethan, rose and turned on the lamp. 

Ethan sat back on his legs, stared at the untouched meal. “I have to work on Opus 17, too. The food will keep for awhile, if you get hungry.” He stood, found his violin and prepped the bed for his stage. 

“Yeah. Sure,” Justin didn’t look back. 

As disjointed violin music filled the room, Justin took Michael’s outline and the Rage-Pride sketchbook to a corner of the room, sat on a pillow with his back to the wall. He set down the outline, opened the sketchbook on his lap, glanced at the top drawing. After a thoughtful moment, he closed and tossed the sketchbook aside and picked up the outline. 

 

* * * * *

Michael’s dark brows tensed in thought as he stared at his computer screen and tapped keys. He hardly moved even after Ben crept up behind him, stooped and parked his chin on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Trouble writing dialogue for Rage and JT?” Ben kept low near Michael’s ear. 

“Working on that story I gave Justin. It’s something I really wanted to do.” 

“What’s it about?” Ben squinted and tried reading. 

“It’s about a non-super hero. Just a regular guy. With AIDS.” 

“Whoa. Heavy,” Ben raised his brows, straightened. “Do you think the world is ready for a hero with no super powers?” 

“I think it needs one. He’ll be doing all these heroic things, just because he cares about people. I’m gonna make him Zephyr’s lover, and he’s gonna keep Zephyr connected to the things Rage and JT take for granted.” 

“You’re brilliant, and I love you,” Ben slid his arms around Michael’s neck. 

Michael faced Ben for a brief kiss, returned to the keyboard, scrolled to the bottom of the page and silently read the last entry. 

“Long after the hype, and AIDS and whatever else comes along …” 

 

* * * * *

Justin finished reading, “…people will read about their dreams and how much they meant to each other.” He flipped to the last page. It was a computer printout of Ben’s picture with only one word. Hero. Justin blinked away a starting haze. Was it so long ago that this was Rage and JT’s storyline? 

Justin grabbed a pencil and began a sketch of Hero beside Ben’s picture. His pencil point broke the moment Ethan hit a sour note, hollered “Shit!” and forced his bow across the strings in anger. The horrendous screech made Justin grope for his headphones. He reached across the Rage-Pride pad without noticing the visible blue edge of one page.

* * *

Michael types his story, Justin sketches Hero, the Rage-Pride pad hints one blue drawing. 

Song: “The Never-ending Story (Almighty Mix)” by Obsession


	7. Waiting Out The Cold

Moving closer to Justin in bed, Ethan gave him a light kiss before Justin leaned away. 

“Wanna go to Babylon tonight?” 

Ethan blinked in disbelief. “I thought you hated that place.” 

“I never said I hated it. Emmett and Ted invited us. Besides, I feel like dancing tonight.” 

“What about your ex?” Ethan’s face darkened. 

Justin looked off to mask his discomfort. “Emmett says he hasn’t showed up since the Rage party, and he probably found a new hangout.” 

Ethan waited until Justin’s eyes were on him again. “I’m not much of a dancer. But you go ahead and have a good time with your friends,” he smiled. “It’ll give me a chance to practice Vivaldi’s three-fifty-nine.” 

Justin smiled back and kissed Ethan’s lips before rolling to face away. He felt Ethan change position, closed his eyes and wished he hadn’t heard the tear of a condom wrapper. 

Ethan molded to his back and angled his hard dick into the crack of Justin’s ass. 

“No,” Justin reached back, wrapped his hand around the hardness and slow-stroked. 

Ethan kissed Justin’s neck, nosed his ear. “I can wait if you have to clean up.” 

“That’s not it. I just don’t…feel like it.” 

Ethan’s hand encased Justin’s and stopped the movement. “You haven’t felt like it for days, and it’s making me crazy. What’s wrong?” 

“Maybe…if you go down on me for awhile.” 

“Sure,” Ethan kissed Justin’s hair, knit his brows in confusion when Justin rolled flat on his stomach and folded his arms under his head. “I can’t get to you like that,” he giggled, expecting Justin to explain this game. 

Justin tilted his head up, not sure Ethan understood. “You don’t wanna go down on me?” 

Ethan looked at Justin’s ass. Then the bulb lit. “You mean…” Ethan’s face twisted. “I never got into that disgusting practice.” 

Justin turned away shocked, and for the first time embarrassed by an activity he enjoyed so much. He pulled the sheet to cover his hips and faced away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” 

“I’ll do it, if you want me to,” Ethan stroked Justin’s hair and shoulder. He gambled that Justin would refuse, but be impressed enough with the verbal gesture to change his mind about other things. 

“It’s not important,” Justin lied. He loved being rimmed, but with someone willing. Someone who didn’t taint the joys of being uninhibited. 

 

* * * * *

First Friday night at Babylon since the Rage Party three weeks ago. 

Brian stood at his mirror, undid one more button on his sleeveless black shirt for sexier exposure, then gave his best smile. 

“Image is –“

Miles away, Scott finished, “ – everything,” as he undid another pearl button on his own navy tank shirt. Pleased with his mirror self, he responded, “Yes. It’s all in-” 

Back in Pittsburgh, Emmett smiled in his mirror, “ – the look. Something you definitely have to work on.” 

“But I’m not looking for anything,” Justin rolled from his back to his stomach on Emmett’s bed, his cargo pants and baggy sweatshirt obviously on Em’s nerves. “If I add one more complication to my life, I’ll have to incorporate.” 

Emmett swung his head around and rolled his eyes up at Justin. “Honey, it’s okay to look. And frankly? If you have to be seen with me? We’re doing something about that right now.” 

Out waiting in the living room and dressed for a casual workday, Ted sat on Emmett’s couch and glanced at his watch. Emmett’s flamboyant entry made him stand and stare. 

“Your dates are here,” Emmett waved his arms and swished along in red leather pants, gold accent belt, a shirt in black solid and red fishnet combo. 

Justin looked respectably hot in black jeans and a sleeveless pewter lycra top, leftovers from Emmett’s leaner days. 

“You’re both exquisite,” Ted looked at himself in response to Emmett’s silent scrutiny. “What?” 

Emmett leaned toward Justin. “He’s a work in progress.” 

Justin chuckled quietly. It was good to feel that way again, going dancing, looking hot, out for some fun with a couple of fun guys – well, one fun guy and his significant work-in-progress. 

Emmett noticed Justin’s bright expression and kissed his cheek. “Now that’s what I meant about being a normal part of everyday life.” 

 

* * * * *

Babylon thumped and glittered with the sound and sweat of a Friday in full swing. 

Ted, Emmett and Justin leaned on the bar, sipped drinks and scanned the crowd. Justin could barely overhear Emmett telling Ted that Michael and Ben were due by, when a young guy tapped his shoulder. Justin turned a questioning eye on the unfamiliar Steroid Brunette. 

“Hey. You’re the guy who dumped Brian Kinney,” Steroid gawked in awe. 

Justin grit his teeth. “Where do you get your news? The truth is, he dumped ME. Kicked me out. Don’t get it wrong again.” Justin turned his back. 

“Sorry, man,” Steroid wandered away. 

Justin cringed at the thought of what he might have done to Brian’s reputation, and why Brian no longer came to Babylon. He gulped his Marguerita, leaned over the bar and demanded another. 

Emmett touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“Should I be? Does everybody here think I dumped Brian?” Justin reached over and grabbed an unsuspecting Shirtless Patron’s shoulder. “Did you know I was dumped by Brian Kinney?” 

“Who wasn’t?” Shirtless growled, pulled his shoulder back and edged away. 

“See?” Emmett lightly smacked Justin’s cheek, making Justin grin. “Rumors are flying wild. But for every man who’s gloating, there are five more with renewed hope that Brian still does boyfriends.” He touched his forehead to Justin’s and the world looked better. “If and when Brian comes around again, he’ll be just as hot as ever.” 

Justin flashed a weak smile at what he did and didn’t want to hear at the same time. 

Ted invaded the cozy space. “Let’s all hit the dance floor. I want every stud here to envy me for once.” Ted took center position, linked arms on each side and steered his flashy couple into a swarm of bodies. 

While they were swallowed into a churning crowd, the opposite was happening further down the bar where the crowd parted and heads swiveled to watch a striking twosome, Brian and Scott, strut their way to the center of the bar. 

 

* * * * *

Playing in the dim light of his apartment, Ethan ran a melody across his violin, stopped short with a quiet, “Shit.” He stared down at the bed, roughly snatched up and perused a sheet of music. Unable to concentrate, he replaced the sheet, set his violin and bow on top of it and stared in deep thought. 

 

* * * * *

Despite the Rage fiasco, Brian felt a comforting confidence in returning with a looker like Scott. For Scott, it was like it had been two years earlier, when their combined heat drew so much attention they had to leave early. Attention on which he thrived. But tonight, they were both hunters of other game. 

Leisurely sipping their drinks, they stood in a wide aura even the boldest tricks hesitated to enter unless it became more obvious that they were each available and not with each other. 

“See anyone you like?” Brian waved his hand across the crowd. “I know just about everyone here.” Brian’s gaze stopped on who he thought was Chris in black leather and a light shirt further down the bar. The blond slipped into the crowd too quickly to be sure. “Hold my spot for me,” Brian decided to check it out. 

“Don’t waste any time, do you?” Scott answered, but Brian was already out of earshot. 

Scott watched the crowd. Through a temporary portal, he first noticed Emmett’s gaudy red outfit, then Justin’s back. He had to crane to glimpse Justin between fluctuating bodies. 

Shouting over the music, Steroid Brunette cruised Scott. 

“Hey. Wanna dance?” 

“Maybe. Who’s that blond, the one with the ass that doesn’t quit?” Scott pointed through an opening in the crowd. 

Steroid squinted. “Silver shirt? That’s Brian Kinney’s ex-boyfriend.” 

Scott split a wide smile. Anyone who could hold Brian Kinney’s interest was worth a look. Scott set his drink on the bar and parted the crowd on his way to his target. 

Justin danced with high intensity, courtesy of two Margueritas and the shear pleasure of melding with the music. When Scott swerved in front of him, Justin smiled at the attractive casual partner who saved him from third wheel status. It reassured him that, as Daphne once told him, he wasn’t exactly a troll, and he really needed that lift tonight. 

Scott quickly noted that Justin was with another couple, but basically alone. Using only eye contact for guidance, Scott soon had Justin matching his moves. Incredibly hot. Yes. This was the one. 

Watching the two, Emmett and Ted continued dancing with each other. Emmett kept a droll eye on Scott. Another guy like Brian was exactly what Justin didn’t need. But they came for fun, and Justin seemed to be okay with it. 

Brian scanned the crowd. He didn’t like hostile hounding and intended to clear the air. Failing to locate Chris, Brian returned to where he’d left Scott. That’s when he saw them – Scott courting Justin. Flying on automatic, Brian sliced through the crowd. 

Emmett saw Brian closing in. Ted’s eyes tracked Emmett’s and both men accidentally tripped each other while volleying glances and bracing for fireworks. 

Before Brian could cut in, Chris stepped between Scott and Justin, blocking Justin out of the way and matching Scott’s moves without missing a beat. 

Unfazed and still in rhythm, Justin backed off, turning right into Brian’s space. The two connected with anxious eyes, a shared smile and a passion for dancing with each other that had Brian swaying with Justin. He raised his arms to circle Justin’s shoulders but caught himself and dropped his arms to his sides like a planned dance move. 

Justin hooked his thumbs into his pockets and clenched is hands, a new dance move for him. Hairs on his neck and arms stiffened out from the charge running through him as he tried to look coolly detached. 

Emmett bit his lip. It was so painful to watch two people who so wanted to touch, keep their distance. Brian was actually backing slowly away. 

Separated only by their ex’s dancing back-to-back, Scott and Brian eyed each other past shorter shoulders. Scott had no intentions of continuing with Chris. Brian knew he had to leave Justin before his stiffening cock drove him mad. 

In sync, Scott and Brian stepped out to the side away from their partners and moved closer together, each dancing his own steps but holding eyes on each other. 

Chris and Justin were quickly joined by elated bystanders. Though the two sexy blonds danced with new faces, their eyes scoped the couple beside them and their moves mimicked only those of their preferred partners. 

Brian tipped his head toward the bar. Scott nodded. The two turned shoulder-to-shoulder and left the floor without a backward glance. 

Brian hadn’t expected Justin to be there. Surely Ethan was around. The thought of tricking lost all appeal, as did the thought of Justin with someone else. Leaving was not an option. He needed a drink to douse his smoldering desires and bolster his concrete façade. 

Scott wondered why Brian cut in on the dance floor. Maybe an invitation to another round together if they couldn’t find more deserving game. A real win-win situation. 

Chris’s eyes followed Scott. They were made for each other and he wouldn’t let Scott forget that if he had to mow down every pawn coming between them. 

Justin lost the beat the moment Brian turned and walked away with Scott. Justin didn’t notice how long he’d stared before finding enough rhythm to rejoin the man with him. The fun had drained away and he was ready to leave but not willing to show it. Leaving hadn’t burned like being left. Or like realizing that Brian Kinney would always have someone new to replace anyone who left…with no regrets. 

Ted and Emmett saw Justin’s eyes fix on Brian. Emmett shook his head. He had been secretly pleased that Justin had broken away from the beautiful, conceited, fucked up mess proclaiming to be Pittsburgh’s Most Fabulous Fag. Now he wasn’t sure what to think. He just knew Justin deserved to be happy. 

Ethan leaned on the railing of the stairway beside the dance floor and also watched Justin’s eyes follow Brian. Mixed with anger and hurt, he straightened, started down the steps, stopped and bit at a fingernail, then turned and headed for the exit. 

 

* * * * *

Dance partners change. Justin dances with Ted and Emmett; Justin with Scott; Scott with Chris; Brian with Justin; Justin and Chris back-to-back; Brian and Scott;Justin, Chris and two strangers. Justin and Chris watch Brian and Scott leave. Ethan watches Justin from a stairway.

* * *

Song: “The Perfect Drug” by Nine Inch Nails.   
or for the d(tr)ancers among us: “The Lonely One” by Alice Deejay


	8. Waiting Out The Cold

Eyes shut, brain sludgy, Brian’s first impression was that he was in bed with an annoying bright light on the side of his face and a warm pressure against that same side of his body. He cracked his eyes into stabbing sunlight, squinted at the top of a blonde head nestled on his arm. Smaller than Justin. Maybe even younger. Oh god, not again. 

When the sleeping tiny blonde rustled and stretched back to reveal two large breasts, he snapped out of his stupor, turned away, rolled and shut his eyes, covered them with a hand and shook his head. No, no, no, no, I couldn’t possibly have been THAT drunk. 

“What the fuck are YOU doing here?” Scott’s voice gruffed. 

Brian craned back, saw Scott in bed beside the blonde, his body a shadow against sunlight streaming through the window past him. Brian shaded his eyes with a raised hand and had to quickly scan the area before he was sure enough to answer. 

“I live here.” 

“You told me I could use it for the night.” Scott lightly shook the lady’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. Rise and shine.” 

“I did?” 

Sweetheart stretched, sighted Brian. “Hi. Who’re you?” 

“Who the fuck is SHE?” Brian pointed, looked at Scott. 

“That’s Brian,” Scott smiled at his lady. Then to Brian, “She’s with Neville.” 

“Did I do him?” she was serious. 

“Fuck.” Brian rolled out of bed and nearly passed out from the fast rise. 

“I’m not sure who did whom,” Scott leaned into Sweetheart and kissed her. 

“If your ass isn’t sore, don’t sweat it,” Brian palmed his bed head. “What the fuck were we mixing last night.” He remembered being upset about seeing Justin with Ethan, then partying-down big time. 

Soon the fog began lifting. Yes, he had given Scott a key to his loft for the evening because he was going over to Michael’s for the night. So why wasn’t he there? Something about being on the couch. Getting up to piss at some point. Then going back to bed. 

All because of what happened at…

 

* * * * *

…Babylon last night…

At the bar, Brian stood beside Scott, looked across the room and glimpsed Ethan moving down the stairs. Not a sight to make his evening. He turned aside, glad to see Michael and Ben pushing through the crowd. 

“Brian! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Michael couldn’t believe it. 

“Spur of the moment. Scott…” Brian draped an arm over Michael’s shoulder, “This is Mikey-” 

Scott nodded, smiled wide at Ben. 

Further down the bar, Ted, Emmett and Justin took a breather with a round of beers. They could glimpse Brian, Scott, Ben and Michael between passing bodies. 

“We should go over and say hello,” Ted eyed Brian’s group. 

Emmett wide-eyed Justin for approval. 

“It’s up to YOU guys,” Justin shrugged, sneaked a casual look past Emmett then forced his eyes to the dance floor. 

Ted sipped his drink and turned back. “Talk about your power escort. Looks like Brian’s back with Scott Turner.” 

Emmett raised his brows. “So I noticed. Weren’t they an item a couple years ago?” 

“Veeeery hot, if I recall,” Ted downed his drink. 

“Well, now we know why Brian hasn’t been around tricking. With a stud like-” 

“I’m going back out,” Justin broke away to the dance floor. He had always considered his and Brian’s unique connection to be that of a relationship. Somehow the thought of Brian in something similar with someone else dulled the shine. 

“Wait for me,” Emmett trailed. 

“Thanks for asking. I’d really like to, but I thought I’d sit this one out,” Ted sarcastically yelled as a matter of principal, since they were already out of earshot. Turning back to the bar, he bumped into Chris. “Sorry. How’s it going?” 

“Okay. So Brian and Scott were a couple?” 

“Were, are…Brian doesn’t do the same guy twice unless he’s serious.” Ted stared into his drink. “Although…that’d have to be hot to watch…two tops. How do they decide? Flip a coin?” Ted looked up. Chris was gone. He could see Michael leading Ben to the dance floor. 

“What I could do to him,” Scott aimed his drink at Ben, looked at Brian with a foxy grin and got an affirmative return smirk. “Why am I not surprised.” Scott glanced at the dance floor, caught Emmett’s beacon-red outfit and Justin beside him. “Ahh. NOW I remember. Play nice while I’m gone.” Scott set his drink on the bar and turned toward Justin. 

Brian did the math in record time, latched onto Scott’s arm. “Leave him alone.” 

Scott stopped, studied Brian’s eyes and lit with a nasty grin. “You sonuvabich.” 

“Fair warning. He expects too much,” Brian released Scott’s arm and turned back to the bar. He hated having his mind read through his eyes in an unguarded moment. Then he felt Scott’s hand ease up his back and stop between his shoulder blades. 

“I didn’t know you cared,” Scott leaned close. 

“Fuck…you,” Brian smiled in his face. Delivery had about as much message as the words, hinting that Brian was ready to be the target if it would get Scott’s heat off Justin. 

“Hey. How’s it going?” Ted interrupted their soirée. 

The whole place suddenly blacked out and went silent as the music abruptly died. Murmurs and yells rose from the confused and disoriented. Dim emergency lighting popped on, a hellish dull red. Someone screamed “Fire!” and panic erupted. 

Shouts and grunts echoed from bodies smashing together and clawing past each other to the exit signs. Those who could manage cell phones dialed 911. 

Emmett shouted, “Ted! Ted!” as he was jostled backwards. 

“Where’s Brian?” Michael looked up at Ben who used his bulk to blaze their path. 

“Just keep moving. He’s probably already outside.” 

Justin was sardined to a halt with the breath practically crushed out of him when he felt a hand grip his wrist and yank him along. In the clamor and darkness with bodies weaving and bumping around him, he couldn’t tell who was surging ahead of him. 

Once they had squeezed through the exit doors and into the strobing lights of police and fire vehicles, Justin could see Brian panting from fighting the crowd. 

“Are you okay?” Brian released his hand. 

“Yeah.” 

“Where’s Ethan?” Brian scouted. 

“He’s not here.” 

Brian winced, lips tight. “I’ll find him,” he started upstream against the crowd at the door only because the twerp meant something to Justin. 

Justin snagged his hand and pulled hard enough to jerk him backwards. “Wait.” 

Brian stared at Justin. At their hands clasped together. His nerves sizzled. Justin met his eyes with a similar charge. In the fever of excitement around them, in that one moment when the voltage between them peaked to blinding, all Brian had to do was say. . . 

“Justin!” Ethan shouted. 

Brian sighted Ethan, looked back at Justin, pulled his hand free. He moved into Ethan’s approach and discreetly snarled, “Next time you strand him, I’ll kick your ass to hell,” before walking on and disappearing into the crowd. 

“What are you doing here?” Justin asked as Ethan hooked his arm and led him away. 

“Looking for you,” Ethan stared back perturbed. 

The two young men walked a hasty pace up Liberty Avenue. Wailing ambulances flew past them enroute to Babylon. 

Brian found Chris holding Scott in an obvious one-sided embrace beside Scott’s truck. 

“Brian.” Scott peeled Chris’s arms away. “What the hell is going on?” He looked the building over. No smoke, no fire. Bubble lights flashed and strobed everywhere. Arriving press crews scampered for truth and footage. 

Ted, Emmett, Michael and Ben converged at Scott’s truck, huddled close and gripped their arms in the cool air. 

“Brian! Did you see Justin anywhere?” Emmett craned hopefully. “They say a few people might’ve gotten trampled in there.” 

“He’s fine. He left with Ethan.” 

“Thank goodness,” Emmett exhaled a long breath. 

“Ethan? What happened?” Ted asked. 

“Do I look like Channel Eleven?” Brian snapped, started walking. “We’ll catch the news at Woody’s.” 

The others agreed and fell in behind him, opting to find their jackets after the melee died down. 

Chris caught Scott’s arm. “Can we talk?” 

“At the office.” Scott yanked free and followed the others. 

Brian looked back, stopped and waited for Scott to join him. Walking with nearly synchronized movements, they were mirror images – arms swinging hot and casual in short sleeves despite the cool air that had just about everyone else shivering. 

Chris stood deserted, eyelids closing out that sight. 

Brian and Scott staked their claim on a section of bar. Michael, Ben, Ted and Emmett lined up beside Brian as they all watched incoming jacketless and shivering bodies pour through the door as much to warm up and get buzzed-up as to catch the news on Woody’s small TV. 

According to the news anchor, a rat somehow accessed the master electrical box and shorted the main breaker. No one knew who yelled “Fire!” and caused the panic that eventually injured fifteen people, two badly enough to be hospitalized. 

Scott handed Brian a colorless drink. “Here. Test your manhood.” 

“Vodka?” Brian accepted. 

“Tequila,” Scott raised his own similar glass in a silent toast. 

Brian shrugged, tossed it down same as Scott. He wasn’t fond of tequila, but he’d drink horse piss right now if it would douse the Justin flares in his mind. All from a touch. Could pathetic know any lesser limits. 

As fast as the empty glasses hit the bar, Scott had a couple full ones ready. 

Michael edged past Brian’s back and saw the drinks disappear, the empty glasses in a growing row. He shook his head and leaned near Ben’s ear. “What’re they doing?” 

“Seeing who calls time first,” Ben chuckled. 

The room was soon so crowded and loud, Emmett had to shout near Ted’s ear. 

“Teddy? I think we should go back to Babylon and find our coats. Justin probably needs his.” 

Ted, chucked by a careless passerby, spit up the beer he was swigging. He evil-eyed the passer, wiped his lip on a napkin. “I agree. It’s getting too close in here.” 

Ted turned to Ben and yanked his sleeve. “We’re going back to Babylon for our coats.” 

“We’ll go with you. Mike?” Ben tapped Michael’s shoulder, got his attention. “We’re leaving.” 

“What about them?” Michael tipped his head at Scott and Brian, toasting drinks and staring at each other with daring eyes and static smiles. 

“Trust me. They won’t even know we’re gone.” Ben looked down at Michael’s pleading face. “Okay. We’ll grab a bite at the diner. If their cars are still at Babylon after we leave, we’ll check on them.” 

Michael smiled gratefully then tapped Brian’s back. “Hey. We’re going.” 

Brian’s only response was a raised hand and a brief wave, eyes still on Scott’s. 

Tension picked up once Justin and Ethan were in the confines of the small apartment

Justin rubbed his goose-bumped arms. “Thanks for hitching that ride. It would’ve been a loooooong cold walk.” 

“It’s no wonder, dressed like that,” Ethan snipped while hanging his coat. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Justin heated quickly, stopped moving. 

“Why are you dressed like a hustler?” Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter, hand on his hip. “That’s not what you left in.” 

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Justin stormed to the dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a white tee shirt. 

“Was it for HIM?” 

“Who?” Justin stripped off Emmett’s shirt, tossed it on the bed and slipped on the tee. 

“That guy who doesn’t hang around Babylon anymore. You know…Brian.” 

With Ethan coming slowly toward him, Justin dropped his jeans, stepped out of them, snatched them up and whip lashed them onto the bed. 

“I didn’t know he was gonna be there. And just in case you forgot, we had a goddamned fire scare. If he hadn’t pulled me out, I’d probably be a pancake by now.” 

“Fucking Rage saves you again.” 

“For your information, he thought you were with me and he was going back in to get you if I hadn’t stopped him.” 

Justin tromped around Ethan, went into the bathroom and slammed the door. 

Ethan glared at the door, not sure whether to believe anything beyond the fire scare. 

Plowed only to the point of mellow unsteadiness, Brian and Scott made it down Woody’s steps and turned toward Babylon. 

A cell phone rang. They both fished phones from their pockets and answered “Hello” at the same time. Scott had a caller; Brian hung up. 

When Scott put a hand over his free ear and turned privately away, Brian watched passing faces. On many a hunt, he had sought out a certain something for his evening’s pleasure – a look, color, scent, attitude, tone. Beauty. Aura. Some had one or more. Only one had them all. He’d thought that on the first night; knew it on their second. 

Scott swung his arm over Brian’s shoulder. “Change of plans. I hafta meet somebody for the night. What’s the best hotel down here?” Scott leaned on Brian as they resumed their ungainly walk. 

“With the Sportswear Convention in town? Maybe if you mention your name, they’ll throw somebody out for you.” 

“Shit. It’s a helluva drive back.” 

Scott halted when Brian stopped, dug through a pocket, pulled out his key ring. His stupefied fingers struggled to remove one of two identical keys. 

“Here. Use my place. It’s clean and it’s close,” Brian dropped the key into Scott’s outstretched hand. “I wasn’t planning on staying there tonight, anyway.” 

Brian mustered his best got-something-hot-lined-up grins. Scott’s sly return showed that he bought it. 

“You know you got a place North anytime,” Scott squeezed Brian’s shoulder and they both hiked onward. 

Scott’s dilemma only aided Brian’s original plan to not spend another lonely night in the loft. He hadn’t spent much time with Mikey recently. Maybe tonight. 

Ethan pressed his forehead to the bathroom door. 

“You’re not gonna stay in there all night.” 

Inside, Justin sat cross-legged on the closed commode, head barely balancing on his neck as he rubbed the scar on his temple. This was supposed to have been his one night out to have fun and establish some balance in his upside-down life. 

Ethan abandoned the bathroom door to answer insistent knocking on the front door. He cracked the door a fraction, blinked twice at the red-wear on Emmett, who stood holding folded clothing like a pizza. 

“Is…uh…Justin here?” 

“He’s in the bathroom.” 

“I brought his clothes.” Emmett took a suspect look inside. 

“Oh. Right,” Ethan smiled nicely. “Wait here.” Ethan left, balled up the outfit on the bed, rushed back, undid the security chain and opened the door. “Here.” Ethan handed over the ball, clamped his hands on the stack in Emmett’s hand. “Thanks for bringing them back.” 

Emmett stared at the door shutting in his face. Something didn’t seem right. He studied the balled outfit in his hands, pursed his lips and left. 

Justin stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Who was here?” 

“I didn’t ask. He brought these back.” 

Justin looked at the familiar clothing in Ethan’s hands. “Emmett was here and you didn’t tell me?” Justin rubbed his temple again, hurried to the window. 

“Well you weren’t exactly being Mr. Sociable,” Ethan flung the clothes on the bed. 

Justin recognized Ted’s car and muscled the window open. “Hey! Emmett!” 

But Emmett hadn’t even made it down the stairs yet, and in the car, Ted leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed and hands conducting a symphony on the radio. 

Ethan moved behind Justin. “What are you doing?” 

“I can’t stay here tonight,” Justin grabbed the cargo pants off the bed, snatched up his shoes and bumped Ethan aside on his way back to the window. He could see the passenger door closing. “Hey!” he shouted again. The car headlights flashed on. 

“Come on,” Ethan softened, reached out. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Watch me.” 

Justin hung out the window, pitched a Doc Marten steel-toe. It hit square in the middle of the moving car’s hood. 

Ted slammed on the brakes. “Jesus! What the devil is THAT?” 

“Stop the car!” Emmett craned up and caught Justin waving. He flung the door open, stretched out and waved. “Hi, Baby!” 

“Wait for me,” Justin yelled. 

“Okay,” Emmett returned to his seat. 

“What’s THAT all about?” 

“Damned if I know, Honey, but I told Justin I’d be here if he needs me. “

Justin flew out the door in just a tee shirt, pants and socks, his jacket and one shoe in hand. He snatched the other shoe off the hood, rounded to the passenger side where Emmett had opened the back door. Justin jumped in and leaned back, looking up only a moment to wave to Ethan as the car rolled away. 

“Thanks,” Justin spoke low. 

Ted squinted at his hood, rumbled “Did it have to be a boot? It couldn’t have been a tennis shoe?” 

“Shhh,” Emmett scowled before twisting wide eyes at Justin. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“I just need a chance to think,” Justin rubbed his temple again. He could feel a migraine coming on. “Maybe just NOT think.” 

“Nobody thinks at my place. It’ll be perfect,” Emmett offered. 

“I knew it would,” Justin smiled. “Thanks.” 

Emmett turned back to Ted, who corner-eyed him with a beware-of-domestic-squabbles negative headshake. Which Emmett prissily made obvious he would ignore. 

Brian leaned against the Chevy Silverado’s driver’s door, face even with Scott’s at the open window. 

“You have my cell number.” 

“I won’t need it,” Scott shook his head, key missing the ignition for the second time. 

“Right,” Brian rolled his eyes, slapped the roof of the truck as it finally started and moved off. 

Brian made it as far as his Jeep, managed himself into the driver’s seat. The sights before him suddenly flattened to two dimensions. Brian pressed his eyes shut. Opened them. Nothing changed but his opinion of tequila. 

“Oh shit,” he shut his eyes and wilted across the seat

Ted’s car rounded a corner and crawled along the line of parked cars behind Babylon. 

“There,” Emmett pointed at the Jeep. “It’s still here.” 

“Brian never leaves his car unlocked,” Ted stopped the car with headlights on the Jeep’s back bumper. 

“If it is, and we leave his jacket, it’ll save us a trip later.” Emmett squirmed around, reached across Justin’s sleeping body and carefully retrieved Brian’s leather. 

Quietly slipping out of the car, Emmett hurried to the Jeep, tried the door and flashed Ted a victory smile as the driver’s door opened and dome light lit. He looked down to toss the jacket inside. “Oh…my.” 

“Either get in or get out,” Brian mumbled into the seat. 

Emmett ran back to the driver’s side of Ted’s car. Ted already had the window rolling down. 

“Teddy, Brian’s in there and he’s a liiiittle bit wasted.” 

“What?” 

“We can’t leave him here.” 

“You’re right. Help me get him in the car.” 

“Uh…are you forgetting something?” Emmett tipped his head at Justin. 

Ted eyed over his shoulder, thought a moment, did his characteristic decision-nod. “Okay. I’ll drive Brian home. Follow me.” He undid his seatbelt and opened the door. 

It wasn’t long after Ted and Brian had staggered into the building that Ted bounded back outside and into the driver’s seat. 

“That was fast,” Emmett remarked as Ted started the car. 

“He called me Mikey a couple times and passed out on the couch. At least he’s got Scott with him.” 

“Scott?” 

“SOMEbody was in the shower. And that big silver truck has ‘TURNER 1” plates,” Ted pointed to the truck behind which he’d parked the Jeep. 

“You don’t say,” Emmett brought a hand to his lip as Ted drove on. 

In the back seat, Justin laid still, his open eyes slowly closing. 

At the loft, pale lamplight shined through the window onto Brian. He briefly opened his eyes then closed them again. It didn’t matter where he was. Pouring himself into his old life felt foreign and bittersweet. The fear that he might never be able to go back left him as raw and cold as his hand felt leaving Justin’s. He pulled his leather jacket to his neck against the chill. If he couldn’t go back, what would it take to move ahead? 

On Emmett’s couch, Justin tightened a blanket around himself. His heart was on overload, and now he was losing Justin Taylor in the downward spiral. He had to reign in his passion for a man who denied love, and his attraction to a man whose love had so many limits. If he prioritized and worked it out, would everything really fall into place? 

In his bed, Ethan touched the sheet where Justin should have been. Had he been too easy letting Justin go out without him? Had he pushed too hard about Brian? One thing was certain. Justin was a romantic. Music. Poetry. A special dinner. Ethan knew a thousand ways to fire the senses. Enough to overpower Brian’s looks and money. Sowhat in Brian’s pitiful remaining repertoire was keeping such a hold on Justin. 

On Tremont, Chris’s head leaned against his car headrest, eyes glassy behind a window reflecting the Chevy and Jeep. The chilling thought of Scott’s building a relationship with Brian made him snug his coat collar around is neck. He had to do something. Soon.

* * *

A cold, long and lonely night for some tough decisions. 

Song: “Alaska (Original Mix)” by The Venture


	9. Waiting Out The Cold

_“I need an exorcist.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I want to kill someone.”_

 

* * * * *

Chris, dressed in earth tones he knew Scott admired, opened the door and walked right into Scott’s office without knocking – a habit from their past relationship. 

Scott looked up, stopped his hands on his computer keyboard. 

“Chris. There a problem?” 

“You said we could talk,” Chris smiled, pulled up a chair and sat like Scott’s desk was a table at Chez Paul’s. “I just wanted to thank you for getting me out of Babylon last Friday.” 

Scott shut down the computer. “No big deal. You’re my best engineer.” Then he stood up, crossed the office to a small closet, opened it and removed his jacket. “ I hate to make this short, but I’ve got a site to check.” 

Chris sprang up. “I could’ve at least bought you…and Brian…a drink.” 

“Shit,” Scott winced as he shrugged on his jacket. “I’m glad you reminded me.” 

Scott returned to his desk, lifted his phone receiver and tapped a speed-dial number. 

Chris watched him reach into his jacket pocket, take out a key, rotate and stare at it as he spoke. 

“Brian. Scott. I have something of yours. Call me when you get in.” 

Scott hung up the phone, dropped the key back into his jacket pocket and started for the door only to have Chris step in front of him, throw his arms around Scott’s neck and pull him into a kiss. Welcomed one second, it was rejected the next, with Scott leaning back and pushing Chris away. 

“How many ways can I say this?” Scott’s face hardened. “Move on, already. I have.” 

Scott was quickly out the door and gone. Chris stared after him, blinking slowly. Words. They meant nothing. Only their feelings mattered. Chris opened his hand, glanced at Brian’s key and closed it into a tight fist. 

 

* * * * *

They were standing in the Comic Shop, Michael cross-armed and grinning on one side of the counter, Brian impeccably dressed for work on the other. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay,” Michael turned aside to straighten a stack of comics. “I just wondered if the rumor was true that Scott’s the reason you disappeared for a week after the Rage party.” 

“I came to talk about my investment in Rage, not Scott.” 

“Sure. Come on back and I’ll show you the books.” 

“I’m more concerned about the workforce. You tell ME what’s going on.” 

“We’re working it out,” Michael’s eyes wandered uncomfortably. 

Brian turned up his own eye-volume. 

“What do you want me to say, Brian? Hey Justin, even though you lied and screwed my best friend,I trust you and think we can be great pals?” 

Brian leaned on the counter, close to Michael’s face and was quietly serious. “Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” 

“No! Why would you say-” 

“I lived with him for almost two years because there’s a lot to him that was worth it. Still is. You find it. Don’t worry about who screwed whom. And quit making me out to be Patrick Swayze. We’re not fourteen anymore.” Brian turned and walked away. 

Michael was used to feeling Brian’s pain. But not like this. 

“You know…the second issue never does as good as the first. You wanna talk about another advertising run?” 

Brian stopped and turned. “You couldn’t afford me.” 

“Oh? So Rage isn’t good enough for you now?” 

“What’re you talking about?” 

“What you usually do when you’re going after a client. Setting up a meeting at some nice impressive place…” 

Brian half-laughed a breath. “Okay. I have business in Cleveland today, but we’ll get together when I get back.” 

That said, Brian was out the door. Michael stared for a minute, already planning the meeting in his head. 

 

* * * * *

Ethan ran a hand through his dark curls and added another of Justin’s pullovers to the growing pile on the bed. He lifted Justin’s Rage-Pride sketchbook, paged slowly through comic renditions of his rival. 

Justin paused outside the door, inhaled a couple deep breaths, turned his key in the lock and stepped into the unknown. 

Ethan whirled toward him, blue drawing in hand and eyes sullen despite his smile. “Welcome back.” 

“Ethan – “ Justin stood still, sighted his things on the bed. 

Ethan noticed his gaze. 

“I’m no rocket scientist, but when I asked you if you loved me…and you flew out of here without an answer and didn’t come home last night…” 

“I’m sorry,” Justin slowly moved inside, sat on the couch. “I owe you more than that.” 

“So who is it now? Another art student?” 

“What?” Justin squinted in confusion. 

“When did you pose for THIS?” Ethan thundered to the couch and dropped the drawing in Justin’s lap. “How many guys know what you look like in bed?” 

Justin’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. 

“And don’t tell me it’s old. There’s a date up in the corner. Just last week.” 

“Where did you get this?” Justin was sincere. The likeness was obviously crafted with intense feeling. The writing looked vaguely familiar, but beyond that he was lost. 

“Just get your stuff and – get-OUT,” Ethan shouted, grabbed a bunch of Justin’s clothes and flung them at him. “No wonder your boyfriend let you go.” 

Justin deflected the mass, jumped to his feet and moved closer. He’d had enough character and morality assaults from Ethan, Brian, everybody. 

“Seems to me YOU had the best part of the deal,” Justin dumped the laundry basket in the middle of the floor and used it to gather his stuff, verbally punctuating each addition. “So you better put an add in the campus paper right away because your cook…janitor…cat-sitter…litterbox cleaner…and dishwasher are leaving.” 

Ethan turned his back, grabbed his violin and broke into a loud riff. 

Justin moved as close as possible to avoid being hit with the swaying violin. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone but you!” 

Having heard the screaming, Ethan stopped and turned in time to see Justin take the blue drawing off the couch and carefully sandwich it between his sketchbooks. 

“Just you,” Justin added. “And you don’t even know what the word love means.” 

Justin slung his backpack over one shoulder, kicked the laundry basket out the door, pitched his apartment key onto the couch and closed a chapter of his life. 

 

* * * * *

Brian glanced at the You Are Now Leaving Pennsylvania and Welcome To Ohio overhead signs. He checked his dash-mounted Global Positioning System, satisfied that Ohio details were uploaded and working. 

Being alone on the road made him think of Michael’s question about his lost seven days. Then Hell Week returned unwanted in all its original fury. 

The Night he left the Rage Party…

He was so drunk and stoned, he’d taken some kid home and fucked him, held him, god knows what else. At one point, he remembered hearing “This is getting too fucking weird, man. I gotta go.” And he woke up cold, alone and feeling ripped inside-out. It was then that he noticed the emptiness in so many places. Justin must have cleared out before Brian had even gotten home. 

Night Two…

He was still in bed from Night One, having ventured short paths between his bathroom, living room or kitchen to shut off the phone, turn up the radio, grab a drink, relieve himself or pop a pill. Anything to dull his mind as if clearing the slate would give him a fresh place to start again. 

Until he began noticing little pieces left from Justin’s hasty exodus. His Too Busy To Fouk tee shirt in the hamper…a dress shoe jammed behind the closet door…underwear from a past erotic ritual wedged between the couch cushions. Brian held it to his face, desperate for the fading scent of an intimate history. Torturing himself with it until his mind hardened enough to let it be the first in a meaningless pile of the arrogant little cheat’s leftovers. 

Night Three…

The Official Brian Kinney Time Limit for Lamenting. He always allowed himself three days to fall back and regroup after a disappointment. Yet, there he was – blowing his own fucking doctrine by walking around still dazed, red-eyed and wearing sunglasses after sundown. So he fired up the Jeep and went to visit an old friend. 

Cramped in the dark space, the only light being a mottled pattern on him like moonlight through leaves, Brian leaned back singing, “You know Babylon and not the Biblical one.” 

“Do I…know you?” Father Tom nervously responded from the other side of a lightweight confessional curtain. 

Brian leaned his face against the curtain and breathed heavily. “Intimately.” 

“You’ve been drinking.” 

“I’d be smoking, too, but I can’t find a fucking ashtray,” Brian twisted around, shrugged, dug out a smoke and lit it anyway. 

“Brian, why are you here?” 

Brian leaned back against a crooked arm, blew a smoke ring and watched it fragment in the light coming through the carved design along the confessional roof. He could say something cute, off-color or surly. In this place, with a man of God and of his own orientation, tonight was for the truth. 

“Because I remember you saying once that you didn’t judge, only gave comfort.” 

“Is it because of…your mother?” 

“The original Ice Queen? No…I can’t lay this on her. Even SHE had enough whatever to stick by Dear Old Fucking Dad. I forced somebody away…because I wouldn’t tell him…” Brian’s voice cracked. He flicked an ash to the floor and said no more. 

“Tell him what?” 

“I don’t believe in love,” Brian stated more forcefully. 

“I see. And why’s that?” Father Tom knew Joan Kinney, could only imagine how she affected Brian. But he knew he needed to let Brian talk. 

“It means too many different things to different people.” 

“So you’ve had other experiences.” 

“Hundreds,” Brian lightly bragged, went serious, his voice taking on nostalgic softness. “One.” He could see the simple, roughened face of his gym teacher“I was a high school jock. He was an older guy with a wife and a couple little kids.” 

“Was it you who brought him out?” 

“Fuck if I know. I came onto him…he came back…and things just happened.” 

“It was wrong of him to take advantage of that,” Father Tom groped for the right response, thinking he had to stop Brian from hauling all the guilt. 

“What was more wrong? Living as you were meant to live? Or living a lie? He said I was all he wanted. That he needed to explain it to his wife. But before he did, he had to be sure of one thing.” 

“What thing?” 

“He asked me if I loved him.” 

“Did you?” 

Brian shrugged. “What the fuck do I know about love. All I knew was that I wanted to be with him, and if that’s what he needed to hear…I said yeah. Yeah, I loved him.” Brian shifted uncomfortably, lit another cigarette off the first. “He told me it’d be a tough decision, but if he was still at his office after dinner, he’d left her.” 

“And was he there?” 

A long silence passed with just the sound of exhaling smoke. 

“He was gone,” Brian barely whispered. “Just left his shirt” . He could still see that fine body twisted on the bathroom floor, . 22 handgun freed by the kick-back reaction and lying away from its hosting hand. Bone fragments and bits of bloodied brain matter – some sprayed on the wall, the rest static in a large, blackening pool. 

“How did that make you feel?” 

“There was nothing I could do.” 

In the shock and disbelief, Brian had reached down to touch a white arm. But instead of his heat finding the same, a cold chilled the blood running through his fingertips, sped up his arm and into his heart where it stopped and never left. 

“Like the word love carries with it a fuckload of responsibilities, so if you say it, you’d better damn well be worth it. I said it…and I wasn’t worth it.” 

“Maybe you were more than worth it, and his decision had more to do with himself.” 

Brian sat upright, stretched long. “That was my last smoke, so I guess it’s been fun chatting.” He hunched forward in thought. “Tom, if you ever think about taking yourself out, do pills…hang yourself…don’t ever use a gun…because it’s usually not your fucking enemies who find you first.” 

Father Tom swallowed hard. “You’re not thinking of…” 

“Me? Fuck no.” Brian straightened and stood tall. 

“Then…who is the someone you want to kill?” 

“The man inside who doesn’t believe in love.” 

“No. That’s the little boy. But you’re a man, now, and you can’t let him run you. Maybe it’s time you brought him up to speed.” 

“Maybe it was meant to be the other way around.” 

“You came in here hurting and angry. Whatever you do, just remember that a man’s strength shows not in how he can hurt back, but how much he can take with dignity…and how positive he can be in moving past it.” 

Brian wanted to ask which Mr. Rogers Neighborhood Tom had been watching for that, not to mention the dignity of how much you can take on all fours in a slime pit. But he quickly caught himself and said, “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.” 

“One more thing-” 

“Sorry, I’m unavailable for the evening.” 

“I was going to say, if you ever smoke in my confessional again, you won’t have enough years in your life to finish the penance I’ll assign.” 

Brian left his confessional unit, opened the center unit door and startled the priest. “Just to show you my appreciation, I’ll go along with God existing. Just don’t tell Mom,” Brian whispered sweetly, closed the door. 

Nights Four through Seven…

Brian worked like a perpetual motion machine. He had Cynthia call Justin to pick up his shit; drove her nuts re-doing all the files and redecorating his office; amazed Vance with his ability to wine-and-dine clients every night. He spent the wee hours analyzingstatistics, potentials and personal finances while armed with only a portable office set up in downtown’s Five Star Hotel. Self-servicing might have even saved a rubber tree. 

When he determined that the ghosts were diffused enough to face, he took the day off work and went home. Had he found a closer parking space, or waited one more day, or packed Justin’s things and dumped them at Ethan’s apartment, Justin would never have run into him at the loft. 

That encounter reopened the wounds that made him re-evaluate his situation, drawing on what he remembered from Father Tom’s advice about a man’s strength. Thoughts that led him to the Sixth Street Bridge where, resisting the urge to cross over to the Northside apartments, the man chose not to act, and the boy took over again. 

Then seeing Scott, who was so much like him, made him question where it was all leading, whether his image was spawned by a master of individuality or a slave to others’ expectations. 

The fire scare at Babylon. With the million things he could’ve thought or done, his sole drive was to find Justin. And when he did…

A little electronic voice tinned, “In. Two. Point. O. Miles. Exit. Right.” 

Fucking GPS had a point. Brian took a deep breath, checked the GPS map. On the seat beside him was an open folder for Turner Construction’s ad campaign. He glanced at it, buried his feelings and resurrected Brian Kinney, Ad Exec. 

 

* * * * *

Michael slouched in an easy chair, held his phone to his ear, glanced at his Captain Astro clock – 4:15 pm – back to a Pittsburgh Magazine in his lap, an ad for La Bonita Café. “We have reservations for six pm.” 

Speeding along a boring stretch of expressway, Brian grumbled into his cell phone, “I’m just passing Youngstown now. That doesn’t even give me time to stop and freshen up,” 

“You can get yourself sucked off later. It’s La Bonita.” 

“My, my. Leftover class from the good doctor.” 

“Fuck you, Brian. Just be there. I’m leaving now.” 

Michael hung up, leaned back and crossed his ankles on the coffee table. Brows knit, he rolled his lips into his mouth and shut the magazine, eyed his front door and the Astro clock then asked himself again why he was doing this. 

 

* * * * *

For casual affairs, Brian preferred being late. Made for a grander entrance. But since Mikey had picked out one of the best new restaurants and was playing this client game to the hilt, Brian thought he’d spring a surprise and actually get there first. 

The surprise was his when the maitre d’ escorted Justin, Sunday-suited and holding a briefcase, to the Novotny table. Brian did better than Justin at masking his surprise. 

“Brian. What’re you doing here? I thought I was supposed to meet some ad guy from the Post Gazette.” Justin scanned the room. 

“Well sit down before someone flags you for service,” Brian motioned, watched Justin comply. “Where’s Mikey?” 

“He couldn’t make it. Asked me to come instead.” 

Brian grinned in thought. “I HAD asked him to find something.” 

“I can’t believe he actually trusted me with the Holy Graille,” Justin opened his case and set out a ledger book, rested his hands on it and narrowed his gaze at Brian. “He knew you’d be here. Why am I here?” 

“To discuss terms,” Brian dryly responded, reached down, unsnapped his own briefcase and dug for some office supplies. He’d corner Mikey about this later. 

Their waiter arrived with a carafe of red wine and filled their glasses. “Are you ready to order yet?” 

“I’m not real hungry,” Justin closed his menu and handed it to the waiter. 

Brian studied Justin, followed suit. “Just the wine.” When the perturbed waiter flashed an icy smile as he lifted Brian’s menu, Brian pulled a Grant bill from his briefcase and held it up. “Just the wine,” he repeated. 

“Thank you, Sir,” the waiter happily collected the bill, nodded to both men and took off. 

Justin cleared his throat, sipped his wine. “What do you need to know?” 

Brian laid his blue legal pad on the table, poised his pen over it. “When does the next issue go out for sale?” 

Justin glanced at the pad, gulped the rest of his wine. “Aren’t most legal pads yellow?” 

“I like blue,” Brian’s face twisted. “You’re not allergic to merlot, are you? I chose the wine before I knew you were coming.” 

“I’m fine,” Justin shot, refilled his glass. “Couple months.” He watched Brian scribble today’s date in the upper corner before continuing his notes. So much of Brian’s writing had always been computer-driven, this was the first time Justin really watched his hand in action. Questions racing through his mind made him down a second glass of wine. 

“The marketing majors I know draw a little. Did you ever-” 

“Not really. This IS a business meeting, isn’t it?” Brian sniffed his wine like he suspected it was drugged, tasted it and watched Justin stay tense. “Maybe we should hold it some other time.” 

“Yeah. I, uh, really have to get home.” 

Brian finished off his wine, dropped his pad into his briefcase as Justin slipped the ledger into his own case. A sneak peak at each other at the same moment caught them meeting eyes just above the table. The guilty break-away told each the look was more than casual, setting old reactions in motion. 

“Sorry we didn’t get much done,” Justin stood up. “Thanks for the wine.” 

“Any chance I’m going your way?” Brian asked before diverting his eyes to his briefcase. What a lame-ass line. Then, Justin was young and probably hadn’t heard that many lame-ass lines yet. Technically saved. 

Justin wanted to say no, but being asked instead of being ordered appealed to him. “Yeah. I could use a ride.” 

When Brian’s dick jumped at that thought, he knew he’d denied himself too long, and he would have to hold tighter reign. “I’m just down the block.” 

Brian took the lead. Justin followed, eyes tracking the movement of every body part he’d learned to love. 

Inside the Jeep, Justin cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, sort of at Emmett’s.” 

Brian corner-eyed Justin. When no explanation came, he lightly answered, “Yeah, I remember how to get there.” 

Justin gazed back at the man who could sometimes be so intuitively sensitive, yet also act like such a wacked-out prick. 

They focused on work, school and the Liberty gang’s lives on the short drive. 

Instead of idling at the back door of Emmett’s building, Brian stopped the Jeep in a back lot space facing the fence. It had all the feel of planning to ravage someone at a drive-in movie, but Justin hadn’t protested. 

Justin suspected that Brian didn’t want to be seen with him, maybe because it would bruise his image. Or get back to Scott. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Justin smiled. He avoided Brian’s eyes, but caught the scent of Brian’s cologne with a musky hint of arousal. It made his heart pump and breathing race. 

“I’ll, uh…set up another meeting later,” Brian added. But his mind was nowhere near business. He’d picked up Justin’s exhaled breath, the scent of his hair, the invisible charge arcing from his pulse. His own tempo rose and he edged his head slowly toward Justin’s in an urgent need to complete the circuit. 

Justin looked into Brian’s face, soft angles in shadows and blue moonlight. He’d missed this for so long. Defying his rational senses, he closed his eyes and leaned forward, knowing Brian’s lips would find his. 

Each gripped his own suit material, knees or thighs or anything to keep his hands in check, lest one over-eager grab jinx the moment and scare the other off. 

Their lips touched softly, platonic, simple. Pressed harder. In seconds, their heads twisted and tongues invaded, attacked and explored. 

Justin was first to bolt, unable to keep his hands at bay longer. Even the mini wine-buzz couldn’t override a warning that green-lighting Brian was volunteering for his fire and pain all over again. 

“Later,” Justin blurted as he dashed from the car and slammed the door. A few steps away, he blinked astounded by what he’d said, hand fumbling in a pocket for his key as he quickened his pace. 

Brian stretched his arm across the seatback and drooped his head against it, mouth open, eyes staring. What the fuck happened? He shifted to relieve pressure on his pinched cock, spun his head back and saw Justin nearly to the building. More on gut than reason, Brian grabbed his handle, kicked his door open and swung out to give chase. 

But Justin was into the building before Brian even cleared the Jeep. So Brian sagged against a fender, did a little piano run with his fingers on the roof, turned and climbed into the car. There he collapsed back and struggled to find the logic behind never chasing after someone. 

Justin edged the dining room curtain a sliver and saw the Jeep still sitting in the lot. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip for any remaining taste of Brian. 

“Does he know?” Emmett startled him, standing cross-armed in his bedroom doorway. 

“Something’s still there, Em. I just don’t know if it’s enough.” Justin turned back to the window, saw the Jeep STILL sitting. Do you need me like I need you tonight? Come on. Come on. Come on. He pressed his forehead to the glass, slowly shut his eyes, opened them again. 

That parking space summed up life with Brian. Full one moment, empty the next. 

If there was one thing Justin had learned about Brian from their separation, it was that you don’t break through the walls. You find the key and walk through the door. 

 

* * * * *

In Brian’s loft, Chris passed a flashlight beam over the many photos of Scott spread across Brian’s desk until he found and lifted one of Scott staring with his sexiest smile, right out at him. He replaced the photo, set a camera case on the desk. From it he removed and set out a small drill, wire-stripping pliers and a can of engine starter fluid.

* * *

Brian drives away; Justin stands at the apartment window; Chris steals Scott’s photo. 

Song: “What Do I Have To Do” by Stabbing Westward


	10. Waiting Out The Cold

Crossing the living room to the front door of their apartment, Ben tossed another look at Michael sitting on the couch in his cross-armed, cross-legged, eyes straight ahead defensive posture. 

“I warned you not to get involved. It wasn’t enough to send a message in the story –“

“That didn’t work,” Michael craned back and saw Ben grab the doorknob. “Where are you going?” 

“To make myself scarce.” 

“What for?” 

Ben opened the door to Brian with his rage-face, fist up and ready to knock. 

“Brian.” 

“Ben,” Brian cracked a dim smile. 

“Come on in,” Ben grinned at Michael and let Brian thump past before hurrying out and shutting the door. 

Michael jumped to a stand, went from smile to frown. “Don’t start. Ben just gave me enough shit about it.” He turned to the kitchen, Novotny’s haven in times of woe. 

“La Bonita. Make it quick,” Brian followed, locked his hands on the doorframe to block escape while he watched Michael open the fridge for a sandwich routine. 

“I thought you two needed some time to talk, and neither of you stubborn –“

“ – was gonna budge first. So you helped. Thank you, Debbie Novotny.” 

“See? Even YOU know it’s genetic. Want one?” Michael waved a pack of bologna, closed the fridge. 

“I had enough boloney for one day. And since when is anything between Justin and me any of your business?” 

“goddammit, Brian,” Michael clinked a mayonnaise’d knife into the sink. “Because part of it may be my fault.” He looked away and leaned against the counter. “Because he was looking to me for some truth…and I told him what I thought…instead of what I should have known.” 

“Can you be a little less specific?” Brian slouched against the doorframe, raised a faint smile more to relax Michael. A habit from years of experience at getting to the point sanely. 

When a side-glance told him Brian was open to reason, Michael looked hard at him. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s the truth. He’s good for you, Brian.” 

Brian exhaled a long breath. He moved toward Michael, leaned on the fridge. “That was never the part in question,” he said softly and turned to leave. 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Michael low-toned. 

“I don’t intend to,” Brian answered without looking back then saw himself out. 

Taking a moment to unwind in his car, Brian replayed Michael’s weighty revelation and overlaid it with the evening’s events. The kiss. The taste. Scent. Feel. If only…

His cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, Brian forwent the caller id check and simply answered, “Brian Kinney.” He could hear voices and music in the background. 

“It’s about time,” Scott griped, phone pressed to one ear, free hand over the other to block out as much of Woody’s as possible. “Don’t you ever check your messages?” 

“Well you got me now.” 

“How’d it go in Cleveland? With the change.” 

“It took a little persuasion, but it’s set. Neville might’ve thought they upped us by advancing their date, but we’ll get one day on them. And they can’t do shit about it. They’re just flat out of time. I’ve got the new specs with me if you want to see them.” 

“I’m at Woody’s. But it’s noisy as hell. How about your place? At least it’s more private.” 

“Fine. Just let me know if you’re bringing Tweetie Pie. I’ve got a reputation to keep.” 

“She’s past history. We can hit Babylon for a couple rep-builders later.” 

“I’ll swing by and pick you up in about fifteen minutes. Don’t make me wait.” 

“Hey. Piss on you.” 

The phone went dead, drawing a big grin from Brian as he started the Jeep. Lately in his cavern of murky emotions, work was his escape and salvation. As was Queen Scott’s amusing half-breeder macho. Or thoughts of hot sex and steamy release. So Justin was at Emmett’s. And where the fuck did THAT thought come from. 

 

* * * * *

Michael stood beside his front door and listened to insistent knocking. 

“Next time you desert a sinking ship, take your key,” he finally relented, unlocked the door and jerked it open expecting to see Ben. Instead, he saw Justin in a suit and sneakers, glaring at him. “Doesn’t anybody ever call ahead anymore?” 

“I brought back the ledger,” Justin stiffly plopped the briefcase inside the door. 

“Okay. I goofed, you’re pissed, and I’m sorry. If you have anything more to say about it, come in so the neighbors don’t call the cops,” Michael took the case. After setting it on the coffee table, he dropped into a corner of his couch and leaned his head against a raised palm. 

Justin stared a moment, stepped inside and shut the door. “I’m not thrilled about being set up,” Justin moved across from Michael and sat on the arm of Ben’s chair. “I just wondered why you did it.” 

“To be honest? I don’t even know anymore.” 

“I know it wasn’t to do ME any favors.” 

“Well how do you expect me to feel?” Michael countered. “You don’t know how hard it was for Brian to get this far with anyone. How tough it’s been on him.” 

“It can’t just be all about Brian. HIS wants. HIS needs.” 

“All I know is…you told him to jump and you’d catch him. Then once he stepped off the edge, you turned around and walked away.” 

Justin sucked a breath, held his glazing eyes in check and stared at Michael. 

“I would have stood there forever, if he told me he would jump.” 

“So would I,” Michael quietly continued, “and he wouldn’t have had to tell me shit.” 

“I value myself too much,” Justin toughened. “Maybe that’s why…” Justin winced and looked away, not believing the low blow he’d thrown. 

“Why he loves me, but he’s in love with you?” Michael finished. 

Justin returned a pained glance, stood up and turned to leave. But he stopped and replayed Michael’s sincerity. 

“Is he really? In love with me?” 

“More than he’ll ever admit. No. Wait. More than he’s admitted to date, but not what he might…possibly…admit in the future? Whew. I just amazed myself.” 

“That WAS pretty good,” Justin smiled. “I want to love him, Michael. But he won’t open up with me. He’s got so much going on I can’t even begin to understand…and I’m afraid of losing myself…of getting sucked so far down into it, neither of us can get out.” 

“You won’t,” Michael quietly answered. “I think that’s what he saw in you. And what I hated most about you.” 

“Come on, Michael. You hated me for a lot more than that.” 

“You’re a blond with a brain.” 

“Do you believe I love him?” 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Then tell me-” 

“Ohhhh, no. If you’re asking me about personal stuff, that’s way off limits.” 

“I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. Just tell me what it’s like…to be his friend.” 

Michael watched Justin’s unfaltering gaze. This wasn’t just dish on request. This was the essence of his special connection with Brian. His. And Brian’s. Nobody else’s. “Well…the thing with Brian is…I think…” 

That’s how he started, guarding certain secrets, but sharing a brief piece of what a real friend would, to help one lover understand the other. 

Justin sat cross-legged on the floor, leaned against Ben’s chair and considered the sacrifice to which he was a beneficiary. He listened pensively, searching between the lines for any clues to reaching Brian that Michael might have missed in sixteen years. 

 

* * * * *

Brian’s loft door rolled open to two men, shadows against the hall lighting until Brian flicked a switch, filling the living room with pale lamplight. 

“I know I had it on me,” Scott rummaged through his jacket pockets. 

Brian pushed aside papers on his desk, set his briefcase there. “It’ll turn up. Make yourself at home,” Brian nodded toward his mini bar. “I like this suit, but not all day.” 

Scott hung his jacket on a bar chair, watched Brian strip off his jacket, tie and shirt on his way through the bedroom. 

Brian hit the bathroom switch. Nothing. “Now what the fuck is wrong with THIS.” 

Scott set down a whiskey bottle and came up behind Brian to investigate his toggling the dead switch. “Got a flashlight and screwdriver?” 

“Always ready for kink,” Brian went to the kitchen, leaving Scott testing the switch again. The line flew right over him, hinting that Scott was more into his thing. 

 

* * * * *

Justin lounged across Emmett’s bed and stared at the blue drawing. Mild tapping on the doorframe behind him made him crane back. 

“Teddy and I are going out to get a movie. Anything special you want?” Emmett asked and could almost see Brian’s face in the silence before Justin finally shook his head no. 

“Whatever you get is fine with me.” 

Emmett nodded with a half smile and turned away. He disliked seeing Justin looking like the last pup in the pound. 

Justin listened to the closing front door, traced a finger over the writing around the sketch. Mind made up, he rolled off the bed and grabbed Emmett’s phone. 

 

* * * * *

Brian, holding parts in one hand and aiming a flashlight with the other, watched Scott pull the naked switch from its box. “Careful. It’s still hot.” 

“I know what I’m doing. Chris and I used to do this all the time. Ah. HERE’s your problem,” Scott touched a finger to a free wire, “Must’ve slipped off the contact.” 

Brian’s phone rang. “Figures.” He kept the flashlight aimed, set the parts on the floor, grabbed the wireless off the nightstand and answered “Brian Kinney” just as Scott reattached the wire – “That should do it.” – and pressed the switch. 

A loud POP, bright flash. Exploded glass shards chinked against tile and porcelain. 

Brian’s hands flew up in shield mode. His phone hit the floor and the flashlight crashed on top of it. 

 

* * * * *

Justin snapped back from the explosion on the receiver, quickly re-engaged a dead line. 

“Brian? Brian!” 

He smacked the hook switch, dialed Brian’s cell and got a mechanical “The party you are calling is unavailable or out of the area.” 

 

* * * * *

“What the hell?” Scott gingerly stepped into the bathroom, squinted at one of the two mirror sconces still in place and lighting the carnage. 

“I’m revoking your dyke license,” Brian followed in quasi shock. 

“Must’ve been a defective bulb,” Scott fingered a sconce fixture intact in the sink. “Funny THIS didn’t break.” 

“Good thing you were here,” Brian reached beside the mirror, flicked them into darkness, back into light. “It’s a three-way switch. This is the one I would’ve used.” 

“You’d’ve had a face-full of broken glass.” 

Brian ran a palm across his cheek and shuddered. 

“I heard of this happening, but it’s kinda like that one-in-a-million type thing.” Scott returned to the switch while Brian rummaged a hand vac from the linen closet and whirred up as much glass as he could. 

Scott’s fingertip traced the neat L-shaped folds of wire. Almost as familiar as an artist’s signature. He pushed the switch back into place and reassembled the parts. 

“Brian, I just remembered something important I have to do,” Scott moved back to the kitchen, donned his jacket and headed for the door. 

“I thought you wanted to see the finished ads,” Brian set the vac aside, not sure what to make of the sudden change of plans. 

“I’ll call you later,” Scott opened the door. 

“Wait a minute,” Brian whipped on his shirt, snatched a coat from his closet, joined Scott and returned his quizzical look. “I drove.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” 

Brian followed Scott out and guessed that the one-in-a-million explosion might have rattled Scott more than he showed. Maybe himself as well. He reached for the living room switch, backed off and left the lights on before shutting the door. 

 

* * * * *

Anxious and panting from his two-block run from the bus stop, Justin looked up at the lit loft windows, dashed to the front door and frantically punched in the security code. He shouldered the door so hard it hit the wall then he jogged up the stairs. 

“Brian!” he pounded and pushed at the metal door. “Brian! Are you okay? Brian!” He tried kicking at the door to trigger the alarm. “Come ON you fucking…WORK, goddammit!” 

“Justin?” 

Justin whirled around so see Brian standing on the steps. Adrenaline and relief made him fly into an embrace that nearly sailed them both down the stairs. “I heard this big crash on the phone and I thought something happened to you.” 

Brian gripped Justin’s waist tightly with one arm, held onto the banister with the other. “Easy. Easy now.” Brian felt Justin relax and realized that he himself was the one who didn’t want to let go. So they stretched the moment until Justin backed onto the landing. 

“What was that loud noise?” 

“A could-have-been nasty accident. But you know what?” Brian came whisper close, thumb-smoothed a sweat bead from Justin’s forehead, “At least now I know that somebody would have sped to my rescue.” 

“Yeah, well…I, uh, guess I’ll go now,” Justin moved toward the stairs, absently tugged at his crotch. 

“Where’re you headed?” Brian swallowed. Deliberate question. 

Justin stalled without turning. “No place special.” He heard the lock unlatch, the door rumble open. 

“You must’ve called for a reason. Got time for a drink?” 

Justin had seconds to weigh an answer. 

 

* * * * *

Chris leaned both hands on the granite bar of his pristine apartment, his back turned to Scott standing a few feet behind him. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I know your wiring.” 

Chris whirled to face Scott, hands clenching the countertop. “So a bulb blew. Accidents happen.” 

“Like Jason in a dumpster?” 

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!” Chris glanced off to his left, gripped his arms in a chill. 

Scott changed tactic, stepped forward, embraced Chris and got a powerful return. 

“We’re a team,” Chris whispered. “You always said we were a team.” 

“Brian is only a business contact,” Scott stroked Chris’s back. “Now tell me what else you did to his place.” 

“Nothing,” Chris stared over Scott’s shoulder through lifeless, hazing eyes. Even this intimate moment was ruined by thoughts of Brian. 

“I can’t handle this anymore,” Scott pushed away. “I can’t handle YOU anymore.” 

“No. Stay.” Chris vice-gripped an arm, but Scott wrestled free and stomped out. 

Deep breathing the cool air, Scott reached into his pocket for his truck key and felt a new addition. He opened his hand. Brian’s key. 

 

* * * * *

Brian walked into the bathroom and pointed at the broken light. 

“Just watch yourself. I think I got most of it, but you know how shattered…glass …goes,” his voice drifted off when he looked back and Justin wasn’t there. He snorted a laugh at himself, doing his best to be a hands-off host and the kid spooked anyway. A legacy of shatter. 

Justin, having shed his clothes in the dark, knelt on the bed and groped for the neon blues switch. He was nervous, excited and apprehensive about this decision. It brought back his virgin night like hope for a new beginning. Justin felt the switch. Pressed it. 

Brian caught a wash of blue, homed in and gazed at Justin, naked and glowing like a mystical nymph on a dark satin sea. He looked away and back to make sure this was no head game. 

Justin started twisting fabric in his hand, not sure how to read Brian’s statue reaction. “Well? Either kiss me or throw me out,” he finally managed. 

Brian’s strip-tease exercise in playing cool lasted through two shirt buttons. Fuck it, he thought, tore off his shirt, unzipped his pants and launched half-dressed onto the bed, pushing Justin back and devouring his lips. Cheek. Neck. Shoulder. Any goddamn body part in reach. 

Justin sifted his fingers through Brian’s soft hair. Licked and counter-attacked Brian’s mouth and tongue. He moaned and savored every nip and stroke, giggled at Brian’s impatient efforts to get his pants off. Brian was soon on him again, cock like a hot steel tube pressing into his groin alongside his own. 

“Brian, wait.” Justin pushed his hands against Brian’s shoulders. 

No, no, no, don’t do this to me. “What?” 

“I missed you.” 

Brian watched Justin’s blue eyes searching his. Would it kill him to try? “I missed you more.” He was still alive. And Justin sparkled like a diamond. 

“Can we go easy?” 

Brian slow-blinked his yes, kissed Justin’s nose, shifted to the side and guided Justin onto his stomach. 

Justin moaned softly as he felt Brian’s kisses skip along his spine, hot then cool when the air hit their damp tracks. He brought a hand to his mouth, bit onto a finger as Brian coaxed his thighs apart. Spread him open. Trailed a silky tongue down his crack, bypassing his hole, down to the base of his balls, up and around again. 

“Bri-an,” Justin complained. His cock was going crazy and he had to give it a hand. 

“Shhh.” Brian’s warm breath made Justin’s hole flinch. He gently kissed and tongued the intimate spot, blowing and teasing until he could feel its folds give. Brian felt his own back and neck heating and sweating and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He wet a finger, tongued Justin’s hole and slid his finger over his tongue, straight in. 

“Ahhhhh!” Justin arched back, jetting his load and pulsing around Brian’s finger. He did so not want to cum yet. And how the blazes did Brian get his tongue so far in. 

The loft door scraped open. Scott dashed in, shouted to a shape in Brian’s bed. 

“Brian! Glad I caught you.” 

Brian bolted to a stand, “godDAMit!” ; Justin shifted to his side. “Jesus!” 

“Don’t turn anything on,” Scott scouted outlets in Brian’s office. 

“I WAS working on ONE thing,” Brian growled, grabbed a towelette at the base of the bed, wiped his face and hands and stood in full glory with no attempt to hide it. 

“Your phone is dead,” Scott’s eyes narrowed on Justin, just sitting up. “I know you?” 

“No,” Brian snapped, moved to block Scott’s view. 

“How’d you get in here?” Justin craned past Brian at Scott. 

“ Key,” Scott waved it in the air, set it on the desk. 

“You have. . .” Justin scooted up to Brian, glared at him. “He has a key? A fucking KEY? Fuck you, Brian.” Justin tramped across the bed, jumped to the floor and picked through clothing. “I can’t believe I was this stupid.” 

“Justin –“

“Brian, this is serious,” Scott barked. 

“WHAT?” Brian shouted at Scott who was yanking plugs from sockets in his office. “Hey. That’s my computer.” Then over his shoulder, “Justin –“

“Fuck you.” 

Justin blazed across the room and out the open loft door. Scott focused on Brian. 

“Will you listen to me? We gotta find any bare wires.” 

“Then FIND them,” Brian dressed in boot camp seconds. “Is there a fucking full moon out or what.” He darted past Scott only to be grappled back. 

“Your whole place can flare up!” 

Brian finally read Scott’s face. He glanced at the loft, the door. “Shit.” He wrenched free and ran out the door. 

Scott followed Brian down the steps, stood at the closing door and watched him cross the street, right past a parked Turner Electrical van. Scott had just opened the door to investigate when the hall lights suddenly flashed out and emergency dims lit. 

Scott looked aside at the stairs leading to the basement. 

In the dark basement, Chris, in a lantern’d hardhat, stood before an open electrical box, selected a breaker and switched it off. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott broke the silence. 

Chris swiveled, his lantern blinding Scott before he aimed it aside. “Scott. I’m doing what you wanted, see?” Chris beamed the light on the panel, pointed out a breaker. “This runs to his TV, stereo and office. I shut it down.” 

“You told me you didn’t mess with anything.” 

“I…I’ll fix it. I came here to fix it.” 

“So why is the main breaker off?” 

When Chris didn’t answer, Scott pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Chris beamed the light on it. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What I should’ve done a year ago. Calling the police.” 

Chris aimed his light in Scott’s eyes, stopping the call. “I said I’ll fix it. You can help me, just like always.” 

Scott rubbed his eyes, turned and walked away, phone still in his raised hand. 

“Scott. Please.” Chris reached into the box – “Don’t go.” – grabbed a bare wire, set his other hand on the main lever. “We’re a team.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian almost caught Justin at the bus stop when he saw the bus swing in, pull away from the deserted corner and near-miss a fire truck that wailed down the center line, swerved his direction and whizzed past him. He watched it turn at Tremont where the siren wound down, but flashing lights remained. A second siren closed from another direction. 

Brian started walking, broke into a sprint. Something Scott had said about the loft. 

Shouldering past a line of gawkers, Brian saw paramedic and fire vehicles. A squad car. He froze and looked up at his home, dark and serene, then down at Scott standing alone, hands in his pockets. 

Scott watched paramedics stretcher a covered form into their vehicle, hardly flinched when Brian came up beside him in time to see the ambulance door shut. Brian fought a brief flashback of seeing doors shut from the inside. 

“What happened?” 

“Chris…had an accident.” 

“What was he doing here?” 

“I called him out to check a bad circuit…had my back to him at the time. He shouldn’t have been working through it alone…” Scott drew a long breath, let it whisper out,“I guess the team let him down.” 

“He’ll be okay,” Brian offered. Then he saw the ambulance leave slowly without lights or alarm, and knew that wasn’t true. He looked at Scott’s stoic face betrayed by a tear glistening in the police strobes. 

“Just…uh…don’t plug anything in until I check it out, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

It was hardly a Kodak moment where two friends embraced to console the loss of a man who obviously meant more than just a guy on the job. Scott thought it counter-image to express the need. And Brian wasn’t sure how to respond. 

So they stood side by side, hands in pockets, until an approaching Officer asked, “You Scott Turner?” and Scott left Brian reflecting one more time on how quickly someone could be gone. 

 

* * * * *

Emmett passed Justin on the couch, casually glanced down at his hand holding a pencil over a blank sketchpad. 

“I just looooove that classic Polar Bear in a Blizzard.” 

“Artist’s block.” 

“Oh…by the way…” Emmett set the plastic-wrapped duvet beside the couch, “Ethan gave the cleaners my number. I picked this up for you.” 

“Thanks, Em. I’ll pay you back this week.” Justin glanced down at the package, back to nowhere. “Can you do me a favor and take it to Brian’s for me?” 

Emmett bent over Justin and into his face. “No, Honey, that’s one thing you’ll have to do yourself.” Then Emmett headed to the kitchen for milk and oreos. 

Justin leaned his head against the couch and replayed Michael’s voice – “. . . he’s had some bad experiences with people saying one thing and doing another. So he kinda doesn’t trust what he can’t see.” 

Brian had watched him walk away with Ethan. So Justin had posed his naked body in the blue lights and hoped to recreate a different image. One real and honest like the one in the drawing – by somebody. Only to destroy it by ranting like a dumb teenager. Because he’d let himself be intimidated by Scott. 

Determined not to leave it like that, he waited for Emmett’s door to shut. 

 

* * * * *

Woody’s on a Monday night was tame enough to hold a normal conversation. 

Brian picked his Beam-on-the-rocks off the bar, pushed a tall ginger ale in front of Vic. 

“Thanks for filling us in before we caught it on the news,” Vic answered, swigged the drink. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m here at eleven pm, or do I hafta guess we’re avoiding Sis’s two cents?” 

“You’re good.” 

“I know,” Vic toasted the air and drank again. “Trouble is…I think you’re here with the wrong guy.” 

“Scott is just a client,” Brian turned away exasperated. “And he’s got his own shit to work through right now.” 

“You never can tell what life’s gonna hand you. Look at that worker tonight. Look at me. Can’t say I was blameless in the whole scheme of things. But…I can deal with it because I had people I loved, and people who loved me. Still do. If you deny yourself that, then you’re pissing away the best part of your life.” 

“I’m not in love with Scott.” 

“I’m talking about Justin.” 

Brian downed his drink, slapped his glass on the bar and stared at it. Vic leaned closer. 

“How many tests are you gonna run that nobody can pass?” 

Brian twisted to face him. “If I wanted Debbie, I would’ve invited her instead of you.” 

“He’s a lot stronger than you think,” Vic went on, not buying the diversion. “Maybe you should learn from it instead of being afraid of it.” Ignoring Brian’s stare, Vic finished his drink and smiled. “It’s late. Mind dropping me home?” Then he headed for the door. 

 

Brian followed after a quick “I’m not interested” to a bold Trick with a groin fetish. 

“You ARE Brian Kinney, aren’t you?” the Trick sniped. 

“Yeah. And I don’t need to prove it.” 

Vic’s brows went up and he smiled back at Brian. “Well. As a marketing Exec, you probably know what happens when demand exceeds supply. I’d say your stock just went up about a hundred and fifty percent.” 

Brian returned the smile. That sounded and felt pretty damned good. 

Until he was home. Sat down at his computer and realized he couldn’t use it. Strolled to the stereo and couldn’t turn it on. Looked at the TV and mouthed a quiet, “Shit.” There was nothing left to fill “their time” but a ticking clock, the image of a blue nymph, the sensation of unfinished business and. . . . 

His cell phone. 

Brian pulled it from his pocket, took a deep breath, dialed. Busy. 

Deflated with second thoughts, Brian shut the phone and tossed it on the bed. 

 

* * * * *

Nursing a Jack Daniels, Justin sat in the dark and bit his lower lip as he listened to the busy signal. Emmett’s intrusion made him jump, hang the phone up. 

“Can I make a suggestion? Before you two face off again, decide to either stand up and fight, or walk away. He’ll know the difference.” Emmett lifted the glass from his hand. “Another thing? Alone plus drinking are not allowed in this house. ‘night, Baby,” Emmett kissed his forehead, set the drink on the coffee table and disappeared into his room. 

Justin heaved a sigh, settled into the couch sleeper and thought more about Michael’s words:“…most of the closest people in his life showed him just the downside of love. You and I lucked out there, I guess, so it’s kinda hard to imagine.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian sighed, slapped his OUT issue on the kitchen counter and stared at the ad: Thursday. Thik Dik Contest.” Babylon always found ways to survive a slow night. 

The other guys were tied up with their work and mates and lives, but Brian dressed for the hunt anyway. They weren’t needed for what he had to do. So what if a trick didn’t meet top standards…spark a room with a smile…smell edibly luscious…slink in his arms in ways that drove him to near seizure. So what if the main event would be like ramrodding a vat of warm hamburger. And wasn’t THIS pep talk going well. 

Somebody knocked on his door. The one person he could always count on. 

“So Mikey. Change your mind?” Brian shoved the door open. 

Justin. 

That snapped him to ruder attention. Having had a couple days to stew and make the worst of things always triggered his defensive best. 

“Brian-” 

“Before you say another word, Michael and Ben are a couple. Ted and Emmett are a couple – of what, I don’t know. But Scott and I are NOT a couple. Period. Not that it’s any of your business anyway.” 

“I shouldn’t have run out.” 

“Why not? It’s becoming your standard MO.” 

“I’m not buying your bullshit.” 

“And miss the sale?” 

Brian escaped to his bar, unsure what gored most:Justin’s ability to leave, or the lingering irritation of another night without him. Then there was his own caustic sarcasm. It seemed justified at the time if not for a twinge that a drink couldn’t fix. 

Justin braved the sting, picked up the duvet and let himself in. 

“I brought this back,” Justin set the duvet on the floor, watched Brian’s reaction. 

Brian looked at it, felt a stab. Nights when he wanted to believe Justin was thinking of him, he’d pictured Justin wrapped in that connection. There was an uncomfortable finality about its return. Glasses collided as his hand groped for the right one. 

“I don’t want it. Fucking burn it, for all I care.” 

Justin studied Brian’s erratic movements, the inability to make eye contact. Loudest was Brian’s not telling him to leave. 

“You don’t mean that. You’re just mad and waiting for me to run out again so you have some excuse to be a drama queen.” 

Brian leaned against both hands on his bar, fingers doing a short dance on the edge, his critical decision habit. He eyed Justin standing ten feet away, a hand on his hip.

Justin wouldn’t play safe this time. He’d had a couple drinks and too much time to consider what was really inside Brian. What made him act. Or not. 

“I know that there’s a fucking police line-up of people coming between us, and if I want any part of you at all, I’ll have to fight for it.” 

“You don’t know fucking SHIT about me!” 

“If it’s your father, let ME make up for him. I’ll tell you every day how much I wanted you and how proud I am of everything you’ve done despite me, and how sorry I am I ever laid a hand on you.” 

Brian’s wide-eyed stare dared him to go any farther. Justin took the challenge and ran with it. 

“Or your Mother. “

“Stop it.” 

“I’ll be HER. I’ll beg you to forgive me for being such a fucking martyr and making sure you knew it – at your expense. I’ll hug you and hold you a thousand times a day to make up for every minute of it.” 

“You’re not my goddamn shrink. “

“Fuck your excuses and make ME all that matters now.” 

“Justin – “

“No. You look at me.” 

Brain stared hard at Justin’s eyes, saw he was flushing and serious as hell. 

“I can do all that because that’s what you mean to me. What do I mean to YOU? What would you do for ME?” 

Brian wasn’t sure what to say, but guessed about ninety-nine percent sure it would be the wrong thing. So he said nothing. Just held his eyes on Justin’s as if a feeling could travel the icy thread and make everything better. 

“Do you feel anything at all about us?” Getting no response, Justin broke contact first. He turned and took a step toward the door. It looked too real to be a bluff. 

“Yes!” Brian bolted up, shook his head right after. Why was he losing control? 

Justin stopped and slowly turned to face him. 

“Then tell me-” 

“Don’t fucking ask me to do this.” 

“Why?” 

“Because what if I have nothing you want?” Brian’s eyes dropped away and he ran a hand across the nape of his neck. He’d left himself wide open and regretted it already. 

Justin could see the tension and doubt as Brian struggled to reel his words back into hiding. Hardly aware he was moving, Justin closed the distance until he could slide his arms around Brian’s waist and lean his cheek into Brian’s pounding chest. 

Brian hadn’t noticed Justin’s movements until he felt Justin’s body weld to his. If there was a doorway, the key was turning in the lock. Brian wrapped himself around Justin, buried his head against Justin’s neck and hung on for all that seemed like life itself. 

Justin barely whispered. 

“I told you how I feel about you, Brian. But for me, it has to go both ways. Your friends will always take you as you are. Your lover makes you go beyond that. I know I’m a lot more because of you. But if I haven’t done anything to go the other way…maybe. . . I…I should go now.” 

Justin sucked in a breath, loosened his hold and leaned away. 

Brian steeled his grip, trapping Justin in place, face still firm against Justin’s neck. 

“Brian-” 

“I’d…make sure that…if you ever got lost, I’d find you.” 

“What?” 

“And that…you’d always have a place to call home.” 

Justin closed his eyes, renewed his hold and listened to Brian go on. 

“You wouldn’t have to be anybody else for me but Justin Taylor.” He’s all that matters. But Brian kept that and his face still hidden. 

“Brian. You’re crushing me.” 

“Tell me what that all means to you.” Brian’s voice was so soft, it nearly cracked. 

Justin circled his arms around Brian again, pressed his ear to Brian’s chest and listened to a heart whose frantic beat was in close unison to his own. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he absently wiped it on Brian’s shirt-a move that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Figure it out yet?” 

“I don’t want to guess anymore,” Justin dropped his arms and Brian sagged away. “I just want to know one thing.” 

Brian looked off, mind wracked with old, sinister emotions that always seemed to come with one word in serious context. He didn’t notice Justin reach into the folds of the duvet or even return. 

“It’s your paper. And your writing. Did you draw this?” 

Brian looked at the framed drawing displayed in Justin’s hands. His skin tightened as he fought a guilty blush. “How did you get that? It was just a…thing I…” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Justin smiled, eyes still tearing. He knew it. He just knew it. 

Brian took the drawing from Justin, masked his lost composure with a shrug. “I don’t know why you’d want to keep…something like this.” 

Justin palmed the haze from his eyes, headed into the bedroom, went into Brian’s closet and returned with another drawing – “The same reason you kept this one?” – the drawing of Brian sleeping. The only one he sold at the GLC Art Show after they’d first met. 

“I always figured you were a snoopy little twat.” 

“And you’re a shithead, Brian Kinney,” meaning, I know this romance stuff is freaking you out, so let’s slow it down and just go with what we’ve got. 

“How old are you? I’d swear you’re a helluva lot older,” Brian answered. Message understood and appreciated. 

Brian took the drawing from Justin’s hands and stood both side by side against the bedroom wall. “That’s us,” he smiled. 

“Yeah. I’m awake admiring you and you’re fast aslee-” 

Justin was cut short by Brian’s swift embrace and a hard kiss. They moaned and breathed into each other, hands filtering through hair, gripping necks in a needless attempt to keep the other from moving away. They stripped shirts off to free heat and sweat and surrendered to eager hands. 

Justin’s hand unzipped Brian’s pants, skimmed under the waistband of his jock, along the tightness of his belly, groped the hard shaft and fisted it, flat-palmed it, caressed it. 

Brian deftly undid Justin’s pants. Breaking their kiss for only the briefest moment it took to saliva-coat a finger tip, Brian slid his hand down the back of Justin’s underwear, down the soft round smoothness into the valley between until his fingertip rested on Justin’s hole. When he felt Justin’s hips tilt back and heard his moan resonate into his own chest, he knew the request was granted. 

With his tongue still slipping sensually along and around Brian’s, Justin matched the movements to his hand spreading pre cum over, around, up and down Brian’s straining cock. He felt Brian’s dampened fingertip tease and tempt his hole until it finally entered, gently fucking him to the rhythm of their tongues and his hand movements. His own cock, dripping and driven by the friction of his clothing, hung on the edge of exploding. 

They separated long enough to cast aside clothing, then pressed full-body into a deep kiss – heat, sweat and hard cocks rising together. 

Brian scooped Justin up and flung him onto the bed where he landed bouncing on his back and laughing. He crawled up Justin’s body, kissing and stroking as he edged their cocks together. 

Justin’s heart pounded when Brian did something different-stopped and let his fingertips trace the valleys and planes of Justin’s face, eyes memorizing each detail as if for some great masterpiece. Justin could feel Brian’s blood pulsing, breaths coming heavier when he touched Brian’s face in the same way. 

“Love me,” Justin panted in a whisper. 

Brian wondered how many nights he had wrestled to sleep dreaming of Justin with him again-that they would waft each other’s pheromones and go at each other with primal abandon. Here it was. The real thing. Everything the same, but somehow not. 

“Brian?” Christ, no. The L-word is zoning him out. 

Brian could see worry settle on Justin’s face. He answered with a reassuring kiss, watched Justin’s smile return. 

Brian’s hand reluctantly left Justin to reach into the condom-lube bowl. He stripped the packet with his teeth and Justin took over, rolling it on with such a silky touch, Brian grit his teeth to hold the edge. Keeping eye contact, Brian raised Justin’s legs onto his shoulders and kissed the insides of his thighs. 

Justin moaned softly and broke into a sweat at the feel of Brian’s fingers prepping and protecting his intimate entry. “Brian,” Justin hissed, “I’m…not gonna make it. I –“

“Shhh.” Brian’s eyes were closed and he was running on touch alone, positioning his rock hard dick, guiding it in. 

Justin cried out through an ecstatic smile when Brian’s cock pinched past his tight ring, expanded and filled him, caressing him inside, deeper…deeper. The heat, the pleasure that was always Brian, filling him at last, making him smile and moan like he was drunk and out of control yet safe and wanted. 

Brian had groaned almost as loudly, cock diving into layers of fluxing warm velvet. He didn’t think performance – this was no test of skill. He didn’t think escape from reality, because this was the only reality he never wanted to leave. He didn’t worry about his image. Right now, right here with this beautiful young man, he was and would always be perfect. They would always be perfect. 

Brian gripped Justin’s thighs, Justin rocking up to meet each thrust. It was their rhythm. Their style. It was sex defined by more than hot or urgent. Brian kissed, tongued and nibbled Justin’s neck and shoulder. Unconsciously moaned answers to Justin’s melodic tones. 

Hands gripping Brian’s arms, Justin stole moments when he could kiss Brian, breathe in his fragrance, taste his salty wetness. He could feel Brian’s teeth and tongue claiming every part of him in reach, Brian’s cock hitting him there again…again…again…again. Then Brian’s hand closed around his cock, riding firmly. Justin sucked a huge breath, cupped his hand over Brian’s fist. 

Brian’s whole body shook with the pulse-pulse-pulsing of Justin’s release, the penetrating vibration of his cry, rectal muscles nearly jerking him off. He was so close. So close. He could feel Justin’s body sag and relax, Justin’s hand brush tenderly against his cheek, and a whisper so faint, it was almost lost. 

“I love you, Brian.” 

Brian’s throat tightened. If he could tear the words out, this was the time. Justin’s ass muscles contracted, sending a shockwave through him. 

“Justin – I-” 

The wave hit hard. Roared through his veins, funneled to his groin. He threw back his head and rocked so violently, Justin groaned from the attack on his senses, clenched Brian’s hand on his dick, dug his free hand into Brian’s thigh until the climax waned to a last shudder. 

They remained there, pressed together in the afterglow, using their warmth to stave off the chill of still air on damp skin, breathing the musky scents of their union. 

Justin’s hand, slick with his own cum, left Brian’s hand on his softening cock. He opened his eyes to a wonderful, beautiful lover. But he was also still Brian, a paradox of bright light and brooding shadows. 

“We can’t go back to the way it was, you know that?” 

Brian shut his eyes, drew and exhaled a long breath. Sometimes as grim and fruitless as it had been, the past seemed to be surer, mapped territory. Something known that just needed a little tweaking. Like a car with a bad plug. But wasn’t it he who once told a certain blond twink to brave an unknown with promise rather than settle for a dismal given? 

Justin felt the silence like a fading connection. Together but alone again. This was the point he dreaded – the point at which he’d promised himself he would completely end it, if Brian refused to respond. Justin rolled his own eyes shut and twisted away from Brian, only to feel a strong arm coax him back. 

“You’re right. I don’t know what it means yet, but we’ll work on it. Okay with you?” 

Justin instant-replayed. Right. We’ll. And was it okay. In his sincerity, Brian managed to integrate him as an equal with just a few words. Justin answered with a kiss. 

Brian pulled Justin close, spread soft kisses in his hair, tingled from his sigh as they settled into a familiar bedtime embrace. But what about that confrontation in the living room. What had he promised? What did Justin think he’d promised? One thing was certain. Tomorrow they would talk about it. Talk. Shit. What a fucking daytime nightmare to look forward to. 

Justin’s breaths grew deep and long. Brian studied the impossibly young face and conceded that, for himself, “happy”, too, had been just another meaningless word – until tonight.

* * *

Song: “(Blend) Liquid Love” by Moon Project & “Amazing” by Andy Hunter


End file.
